


life is a highway

by Emlee_J



Series: Highway Verse [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Racing, Based on Cars but everybody is still human, Dirt Track Racer Hinata, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Handyman Hinata, Light Angst, M/M, Pro Racer Kageyama, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 97,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23711917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emlee_J/pseuds/Emlee_J
Summary: Kageyama Tobio is a professional racing driver, the new rookie sensation who's about to take home the Piston Cup in his first year.But a race run recklessly leads to an unprecedented three-way tie, and a tie breaker race is set for a week's time. On the way to the International Speedway, Kageyama gets lost, and ends up crashing into Karasuno Springs - a small country town in the middle of nowhere, ruining the main road in the process. Forced to stay and fix it, Kageyama feels the whole thing is a waste of time, until he meets the town's handyman - Hinata Shouyou, a local dirt track racer.They're very different, but a shared passion for racing draws Kageyama in, as he tries to work out why Hinata is just a handyman in the first place despite his talent for racing; and over the course of the week he ends up discovering that maybe there's more to life than winning races all by himself.(A racing AU; based on the story of Pixar's Cars, but everybody is human.)
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Series: Highway Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883134
Comments: 598
Kudos: 1154
Collections: Haikyuu Fics That Light my soul on Fire, kghn fics :)





	1. The Race

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you tweet you're thinking about a Haikyuu/Cars fusion and your friends relentlessly encourage you (I love you all)
> 
> A couple of things to mention:
> 
> \- The film is set in America and ofc Haikyuu is in Japan and so this is set in [wobbly hand gesture] Vague Country. I thought for a long time about setting it in the Japanese countryside, but so much of the film is that specific scenery and I didn't want to lose it, so the country is just ~vague~ and I tried not to lean too heavily on either side!
> 
> \- I'm British, and we have a bunch of different terms for parts of a car and driving in general compared to American English. I've tried to use the American terms where I know them, because they're much more widespread, but if you see a strange term that's probably just what we call it in the UK. I'm a little sad I couldn't use 'bonnet' instead of 'hood' though, because it's much funnier.
> 
> \- The Piston Cup in the film is based on stock car racing (NASCAR specifically) but because the film uses a whole bunch of different cars in both Cars 1 and 3 for the races I've taken the opportunity to take creative liberties with the cars driven by the characters. I'm the using the assumption the Piston Cup is open to most car makes, rather than a Formula-type racing series.
> 
> \- [@caelestee](https://twitter.com/caelestee) on Twitter, because she's amazing, drew [Kageyama in his racing suit and his car, along with handyman Hinata in his jumpsuit!](https://twitter.com/caelestee/status/1251228994327855104?s=20) her art is stunning and I'm still in absolute awe over it ;_____; please check her art out!! Special Thanks to her as well for reading these first two chapters over for me, screaming with me about this AU and being an incredibly supportive hypewoman <3 
> 
> And finally, Cars is, genuinely, one of my all-time favourite films and I'm still in love with its story, so this is a real passion project for me. If you've never seen it, you don't need to see it to understand this story, but I encourage you to do so, because it's an absolute blast. 
> 
> Thank-you for taking the time to read this, pop on Real Gone by Sheryl Crow to play in the BG and off we go! We update on Saturdays :)

Knuckles crack and leather squeaks as ten fingers curl tightly around a steering wheel. Squeeze once, twice, three times before releasing. Relax. The fingers wiggle before gripping again.

The inside of the car is quiet. There are no voices, not from the driver or the headset attached to the inside of his helmet. The buzz of the racetrack oozes through the metal framework but it’s muffled, just a low hum of powerful, idling engines and screaming fans. A booted foot tips against the accelerator until there’s a roar, a quick blast to wipe out the other sounds, until all is silenced quiet in the driver’s mind.

Kageyama Tobio flicks his visor on his helmet shut completely shut and closes his eyes, tilts his head back and continues the rhythmic squeezing pattern on his steering wheel.

_Speed. I am speed._

It’s a simple mental chant, a repeated mantra over and over, until his mind quiets and all he can see is the continuous oval of the racetrack, devoid of cars. The optimum racing line, the perfect way to hit each corner, all envisioned as he plans out his manoeuvres. Forty-three cars, one winner. Forty-two losers.

Kageyama was not going to be one of those losers.

There’s a blare of a horn and blue eyes snap open again as all around him engines flare fully into life as his competitors shift into gear.

Ahead, the string of black starting lights flicker. The start flag levers into view.

It’s the final race of the Piston Cup, and Kageyama’s going to take it all in his rookie season.

One red light. Two, three, four, _five._ A heart-stopping second. Fingers tighten, a tongue swipes out to wet dry lips in anticipation. _Green._ The flag falls and Kageyama releases the clutch and stomps on the accelerator.

His Corvette springs, and Kageyama cannot stop the satisfied grin that spreads across his face as he passes two, three, four cars in quick succession, straight off the starting line. He didn’t get pole position this time round, he had to save his good tyres for the race and couldn’t post a decent time, but it doesn’t matter. He’s more than fast enough to leave most of these racers in the dust, no matter how many more years of experience they may have on him.

The corners he takes easily, sweeping around each one with mechanical, perfect precision, and every time he passes the tower in the middle of the track lit up with each car’s position a thrill of satisfaction shoots through him. He can see his own number – 20 – climbing up one place at a time. There’s no crew chief to announce these passes to him, but that’s okay, Kageyama doesn’t need one. He can do this all by himself, _has_ done most of this season by himself, and he’s well on his way to historic victory.

Laps speed by and cars fall behind until there are only two more in front – one a bright sky blue in Dinoco’s famous livery and the other a sickly green, splattered with so many sponsorship stickers it was almost hard to see the paint.

For the past few years, the Piston Cup had been predominantly a fight between these two racers – Nicolas Romero, the reigning champ, the King, and Dinoco’s poster boy, and Daishou Suguru, the forever runner-up. These days mainly sponsored by a seedy bank, and a slew of other companies, he finally had the funds to get his car up to the speed needed to truly challenge for the Cup. And it had worked. As it stood, Romero and Daishou were tied for points.

Which was all well and good, if it weren’t for Kageyama.

The youngest racer on the circuit, he’d blasted into his rookie season with a bang and a triumphant win only two races in. Completely unknown at the start of the season, now the latest sensation. For every Dinoco flag in the stands there was someone waving navy. The same deep, dark, rich blue of Kageyama’s now famous Stingray, which sweeps up close to Daishou’s rear bumper.

Kageyama had the same amount of points as the two cars ahead, so if he won here, he’d be the first racer in history to ever take the Piston Cup – the highest honour in national motorsport – home in their rookie season.

All three cars flash over the start line again, down the straight, up the first corner, then second… Kageyama tightens his grip on the wheel as he draws level with Daishou. The other racer is an experienced overtaker, and hard to pass, but his car is slower, so if he gets a good trajectory out of the corner he should be able to take him on the straight.

Kageyama curses as the slew of cars ahead show their rear lights. Right at the back of the pack, they were sitting there waiting to be lapped, and while that could work in Kageyama’s favour – slowing the cars ahead down so he has an opportunity to pass – neither Daishou nor Romero were slouches at passing the slow cars. He _has_ to get them with speed.

There’s a distant roar as Romero’s Superbird launches, straight into the fray of lapped cars. Experience equals no fear, and the seven-time champ navigates them all easily, easing his way through towards clear race track once more. Kageyama would be impressed, if he had the time.

Daishou’s car eases, frustratingly, away from him but before Kageyama has opportunity to growl out his annoyance, the green stock car taps into another car’s rear bumper, sending it into a spin.

Kageyama sees what’s going to happen before it does, and slams a foot down on the brakes.

The bumped car spins wildly out of control, until it’s careering into a neighbour, the sharp clang of colliding metal echoing around the track with the squeal of tyres and protesting breaks. One after the other, cars knock into each other, the collisions not forceful enough to cause any flips, but one by one each car starts to spin out of control. The track is a centrifugal force as each car spins around its oval, and now they are all knocked out of orbit, a mess of metal strewn across the track as the drivers wrestle to get their runaway vehicles back under control.

Dust and smoke billow up, until all Kageyama can see are the vague silhouettes of his competitors, looming in the fog. But it doesn’t matter. His early brake had given him enough track to keep out of the domino effect, and he was clear enough to see.

Kageyama may be known for his blistering speed, and he may not have the experience of Romero, or the guts to bully his way through like Daishou, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to overtake. Kageyama was, if nothing else, absolute precision in all his movements.

He shifts in his seat and grips the steering wheel, holding his breath, and plunges in.

The visibility is poor, and more than once a car comes close enough to him to threaten to scrape his paint or smash a wing mirror clean off, but Kageyama is quick and deft. His feet dance across the pedals, his hand never leaving the gear stick as he upchanges and downchanges rapidly, switching between gears in a blink as he navigates each obstacle as it comes. His Stingray roars with victory as the cloud clears, until the other cars fall away and then there’s the stretch of clear track once more, just in time for him to ease around a corner before his momentum carries him into the barrier.

He grins, pleased, and notes with no small amount of thrill that both Daishou and Romero had made it through too. Well, it wouldn’t be any fun if his main competitors were taken out as well, after all.

Inevitably, a yellow flag starts waving and the pace car trundles onto the track, keeping the three of them at bay to allow the wounded cars time to get off the track. But it’s not long before Daishou and Romero peel off into the pits to join what seems to be the majority of the other cars on the circuit, all taking advantage of the pace car order to refuel, grab tyres.

Not Kageyama. If everyone else wants to pit, then fine. His tyres feel good, his tank is good, so he takes the opportunity to pull his Corvette straight up to the back of the pace car, waiting. As soon as the race restart order comes through he’s going to be first one off the line, and straight into first place.

Then it’s just a matter of bringing it all home.

One by one, the rest of the cars who weren’t damaged enough to retire trundle their way back onto the track, and the pack is complete. The pace car guides them around one lap more, until they loom upon the starting line once again, the marshal leaning over with the restart flag ready.

It waves. The pace car peels off. And Kageyama presses his accelerator down flat.

The Stingray roars and pounces, and he leaps away perfectly, straight up to full speed and straight into first place. A grin spreads its way, fierce and satisfied, across Kageyama’s face. Now he just has to keep it here.

With no overtaking to worry about, he’s free to guide his car around each corner at the perfect angle each time and he watches, triumphant, as the cars behind him slowly start to drop away. His lead is increasing.

The home stretch looms and Kageyama pulls into the pits for the final time. He just needs one more spritz of gas in the tank and then he can go, smash out those final laps one by one.

His Corvette hums with the same impatience thrumming through his own veins as his pit crew scurry over. The tank cover pops open and one of the mechanics attaches the refuelling nozzle, but then another comes towards him with the trolley meant to lever his car up and he bangs a fist against his driver’s window in warning.

“No tyres, just fuel!” He barks through the glass. His mechanics don’t have headsets like he does – normally the crew chief liaises between the driver and the crew, but… there is no crew chief here. It means Kageyama’s pit stops are slower, the mechanics always taken by surprise when he pulls in, but never taking tyres does help to shave off a few seconds.

“You need tyres!” An angry voice shouts back through the window, belonging to the closest mechanic. The man is wearing a helmet, so Kageyama can’t tell, but he’s sure the voice belongs to Kindaichi, the head mechanic.

“Just fuel!” Kageyama demands, hot and furious. This is _his_ race, and if he takes tyres _now_ it’ll cost him the lead he’s built up. He cannot afford a tussle with Romero and Daishou right at the end of this race, above all else. He needs to be fast, the fastest driver on the circuit, and he needs to go, _now._

The mechanic with the trolley dithers and it’s only through Kindaichi waving at him irritably that he finally moves out of the way.

Which is just as well, because a second later the refuelling nozzle disengages and Kageyama takes the opportunity to storm out of the pit box to rejoin the track. His tyres are _fine_. He doesn’t need new ones, he can win this race through sheer pace alone.

One by one, the laps fall away until they’re in the single digits. Five, four, three, _two_ … the final lap begins and Kageyama can’t help the small huff of victory that punches out of him.

The final lap, and he has almost a whole lap lead on the cars behind. He isn’t going to _walk_ out of here the Piston Cup champion, he’s going to run away with it.

He takes the first corner, easy, then the second, and as he streaks down the straight he shifts slightly in his seat. His hands are sweaty beneath his gloves, and his helmet feels almost stifling. The finish line is so close he can almost taste it… and if he tilts his head just so, he can just about see the marshal holding that glorious chequered flag.

The third corner is taken, and Kageyama leans forward in his seat as he reaches the fourth, final corner…

_Bang._

It’s so loud and so sudden Kageyama physically jolts in his race seat, and it’s only through years of sheer practice that he manages to wrench the steering wheel in the nick of time to halt the wild fishtailing and stop the Stingray from ploughing into the barrier.

A tyre. He’s lost a tyre.

Kageyama curses furiously under his breath, wrenching the gear stick into submission. His beloved car groans but follows his guidance, and he makes it out of the last corner. The trajectory is awful, and his speed falls through the floor, but the Corvette manages to keep a semblance of a steady line. Just one final straight. Just a few feet. He can do this.

There’s a horrible, cloying screeching from the rear of the car – it’s the left rear tyre that’s gone, given up after too many laps at a punishing pace, leaving only the wheel rim to scrape across the floor. But Kageyama has lost tyres before, has had countless punctures in his career, and he’s confident he can drag his wounded car over the line just fine, even with just three tyres.

_Bang._

_“Son of a-!”_

Kageyama has to fight every instinct in his body screaming at him to punch the brakes as his Corvette screams and swerves wildly.

The other rear. He’s lost _another_ tyre.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ …”

Kageyama swears furiously under his breath and, with jerky and panicky movements, just manages to keep his car on the steady line. He can’t hear the cries of the crowd, or the announcers, the engines of his competitors roaring up close, all he can hear is the devastating screech of metal on tarmac as his car tries to continue forward with only its two front tyres.

If Kageyama had any time to spare a thought beyond his growing panic, the sight of his car – cared for and loved and maintained in _memory_ – stricken down like this it would’ve made him feel ill.

But Kageyama has no time, and as he flicks his gaze up to his rear view mirror, his eyes widen in horror as he sees both Romero and Daishou streaking towards him at a terrifying speed.

They’re both level with each other, and Kageyama’s hard earned lead has been stripped away completely. They’re travelling towards him at over two hundred miles an hour, and Kageyama is barely doing twenty.

He turns his gaze back to the finish line. It’s barely fifty feet away. There’s nothing he can do – he can’t make his car go any faster, and he can’t block the other cars overtaking him. All he can do is get over that line, and pray he does it before the others catch up.

Forty feet, thirty, twenty, _ten_ …

Kageyama slams his eyes shut as two blurs, one green, one blue, streak past either side of him, and a chequered flag swoops down.

The final race of the Piston Cup ends, to the loudest cheer anyone can remember.

For the first time, the race has ended, and nobody knows who won it.

* * *

Limping his wounded car back to the pits was already infuriating enough in itself, but Kageyama’s temper is even more frayed by not even knowing the result of the race.

He’s been racing for years, followed it for even longer, and he can’t think of a single race, on any racing circuit, that ended with _three_ possible winners.

The Corvette groans to a stop at his pit box, and he just manages to kick open the driver’s door and climb out before his pit crew swarm in and hoist it up, removing the shredded rubber from the rear wheels to replace them with fresh tyres.

Normally this wouldn’t be allowed, but race control had ordered it, and if he had _won_ … Kageyama couldn’t exactly present his winning pride and joy with only two tyres on it. A frustrated sigh punches out of him and he reaches up to yank his helmet off, swiping his free hand through his sweaty hair in agitation.

The order to pull into the pits and wait for the officials’ decision had been broadcasted over his radio, along with everyone else’s judging by Romero and Daishou’s cars sitting in their respective spots. Kageyama had no idea how long he was supposed to wait, but he knows one thing – he can’t just stand around here, he’s full of too much nervous energy.

He’s just reaching out to give his car a fond pat when one of the pit crew bumps into his side as they move to lower the car back down again.

Kageyama grunts in annoyance and spins to glare at the man, only to be faced with a furious tirade before he can even get any words out.

“ _Are you in idiot?_ You threw that away!”

Kindaichi is… _difficult_ for Kageyama to get along with on the best of days, but now, he’s almost apocalyptic.

“Why didn’t you take tyres? Are you _that_ stupid that you think you can do hundreds of laps on _one set?”_ Kindaichi continues, incandescently furious. He’s taken his helmet off, clearly having no intentions of joining his crew who were still scattered around Kageyama’s car, watching them silently. To his side, another mechanic, smaller, reaches out and tugs at his arm, his murmurs muffled from behind his visor. Kageyama can’t see him, but he’s sure it’s Kunimi. The two are as thick as thieves.

“I had a whole lap lead!” Kageyama retorts, equally angry, and gestures wildly with his helmet at the track.

“ _Had_. You _had_ a whole lap lead!” Kindaichi corrects, leaning forward and pushing his index finger into Kageyama’s chest as he continues to shout at him. “We can’t hear a fucking thing because we don’t have a radio so you just swoop in here, never give us enough time…”

“All I need is fuel! How is that _hard?”_ Kageyama demands.

“ _You need tyres!”_ Kindaichi roars, poking Kageyama’s chest again viciously before curling his hand into a fist. For a wild moment, Kageyama thinks he might punch him, the man certainly looks infuriated enough to, even though he’s never known him to be violent.

“ _I’m_ the racer!” Kageyama points out, the final threads of his temper eventually snapping and falling away with whatever was left of his patience. “It’s _my_ decision, not yours! You’re just the crew!”

“ _Just_ the crew?” Kindaichi echoes flabbergasted, and even Kunimi behind him is shaking his head. “God you’re an arrogant prick. This is why you don’t have a crew chief!”

Actually, Kageyama doesn’t have a crew chief because he kept firing them. Every one so far seemed hellbent on making him follow a racing plan he didn’t want to do. And in almost every race with someone micromanaging all of his movements, he didn’t take first. It was infuriating, and distracting, and Kageyama had reached the point where he felt he didn’t need a crew chief at all.

(He’d only had one, too many years ago now, who’d _listened_. But the thought of him sent Kageyama’s heart twisting up so tight and painful he refrained from doing so whenever possible.)

“I don’t _need_ a crew chief,” Kageyama snarls, leaning in himself so he and Kindaichi are only a few inches apart. Kunimi tugs at his fellow mechanic even harder. “I just need my car filled with gas, is that really so damn _hard?”_

“You’re impossible,” Kindaichi says, and it’s like all the fight drains out of him all at once. He takes several steps back, and waves at his crew. Behind Kageyama, he hears the metallic groans and clangs as his car is lowered back down to the ground. “You know what? I actually hope you lose. Maybe you’ll finally learn a thing or two that way. Come on guys.” He gestures over his shoulder, and one by one each mechanic slopes off to join him.

“Where are you going?” Kageyama asks, suddenly baffled. A quick glance over his shoulder tells him that his car has new tyres on it, so the job was done, but the mechanics didn’t normally _leave_ until it was time to pack up…

“We quit!” Kindaichi hollers over his shoulder. “If it’s so easy to win races with just fuel, maybe you can do that all by yourself too! It certainly sounds like you don’t need us!”

And with that, he turns around and storms away, followed by every single one of Kageyama’s crew in his wake.

Kageyama watches them go with a mixture of upset and fury tumbling around in his guts. As much as working with Kindaichi could be hard, he couldn’t deny the man was good at what he did. The whole crew were, even Kageyama didn’t need them for much. He could find another team without too much trouble, probably, considering his newfound popularity, but the fact he had to _do_ that in the first place was just-

With a grunt of frustration, he kicks at a spanner left behind on the ground furiously, sending it spinning across the pit lane with a lonely clatter.

“Tobio!”

Kageyama freezes in place when the new, but familiar, voice calls out from behind him and, raking a hand through his hair again, this time with nerves, he turns around.

It belongs to Romero – who’s similarly removed his own helmet and looks exactly the same as he did before the race. The man never seems to feel the heat as much as the other racers, always impeccably fresh.

“Hello Mr Romero,” Kageyama says, stiffly.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Nicolas?” Romero asks, eyes twinkling, and Kageyama fidgets in place.

Nicolas Romero is, quite possibly, one of the nicest men Kageyama has ever met. Despite Kageyama being a rookie, and despite him very likely having just taken Romero’s last chance at a Piston Cup away from him, he remains friendly and earnest in all the times they’ve spoken. It spends a giddy thrill zipping up Kageyama’s spine every time.

Because Romero was a _hero_. An icon of the sport, a seven-time Cup winner and poster boy for not only Dinoco, but motorsport as a whole. This was his last ever season, and he made it clear he was planning on leaving the sport on a high note – racing against him was one the highlights of Kageyama’s entire life, who had spent much of his youth watching the man race wide-eyed on television.

“Ahh…” he dithers, unsure of what to say. He always gets like this. Somehow racing against the man is fun, _easy_ , but speaking to him is almost impossible. He always feels like a fourteen year old boy all over again.

“Anyway, I just wanted to say congratulations,” Romero continues, folding his arms over his chest and shooting Kageyama a warm smile. “You’re one gutsy racer.”

“I… thank-you,” Kageyama replies, vaguely stunned.

“But you’re… how should I say this? A little stupid,” Romero adds, and his smile gets an added line to it – almost stern. “Reckless! Maybe reckless is better,” he muses. “I couldn’t help but overhear some of your, uhh, conversation with your crew there.”

Kageyama fights the urge to wince, and he wishes he had the same control over his blood flow, which is all shooting straight to his face as his cheeks warm unpleasantly with embarrassment.

“Still don’t have a crew chief huh?” Romero says, shooting a quick glance up at the small podium looming over Kageyama’s pitbox where, if he had one, his crew chief would be sitting. “Look kid, you’re one of the best racers I’ve seen in years, your speed is incredible. But races can’t be won on speed alone, and I really think, regardless of what decision the officials make right now, you should spend the off season really finding a team that works for you. There’s only one name on the Piston Cup, but there’s a whole team that gets them there. I’d be nowhere without my crew!”

Kageyama tightens his grip on his helmet and tries, very hard, not to feel like a schoolboy being scolded by a favourite teacher. He understands where Romero is coming from, sort of, but he’s right – there’s only one name on the Piston Cup, and it’s the _racer_ that actually did all of the driving.

He lets his gaze drift from Romero’s face, vaguely aware that the man is still speaking, but tuning him out to focus on the bright, sky blue of the Dinoco tent, set further in to the paddock, behind the pit lane.

 _Dinoco._ The biggest name in motorsport, apart from those of legendary racers, the biggest company involved in the sport that isn’t the governing body. A giant, they had multiple legends in their glittering history, and more Piston Cup winners than any other sponsor. Racing for them, winning a Piston Cup under their livery, was a dream for every racer.

And not just for the prestige – they were a huge company. Enormous resources, the best crews, access to all sorts of advantages smaller sponsors couldn’t provide… Dinoco threw everything behind their racer, giving them all the support they could to let them flourish.

And now, after over ten years, their current driver was now retiring. Who would be their next pick was the biggest buzz on the circuit, aside from the three-way race to the Cup, and so far, Dinoco had made no announcements. It was entirely possible they had picked out a young racer from a lower circuit, someone new and upcoming, but Dinoco had no pattern for picking their racers, and it could equally be anybody on the Piston Cup circuit right now.

Kageyama was almost painfully aware of this, and had been paying more than a little attention to all of the news reports that said he was the favourite. A new driver, young, and potentially the youngest Piston Cup champion in history, who took it all in his rookie season? He had to be a good pick. And racing for Dinoco would up his racing career into the stratosphere. He’d never struggle to find a good crew there, and possibly even a crew chief, and all he could see was endless victories from there on out, all coated in Dinoco blue.

“Well!” Romero says suddenly, clapping Kageyama sharply on the shoulder and jolting him suddenly out of his thoughts. “I just wanted to come and give you some advice. Thanks for listening, Tobio.”

“Ahh, thank-you,” Kageyama replies, somewhat stiffly. He’s just trying to work out how to make his tongue force out more words so he can vocalise how racing against Romero this year had been an incredible privilege, when there’s a loud blare of a horn and the race announcer is shouting over the tannoy for everyone to please make their way to the podium.

The officials have made their decision.

“Aha!” Romero says, shooting Kageyama a wicked grin. “Looks like they’ve come to a decision. Shall we?”

Romero accompanies him as they walk from the pit lane across what feels like the longest stretch of tarmac leading from the cars to where the winner’s podium stands, smack bang in the middle of the stadium. Kageyama is enormously relieved Romero is next to him, because not only are nerves and excitement threatening to send his heart beating out of his chest, but there’s also a small army of reporters to swarm them at every step.

They’re not allowed into the pit lane, for which Kageyama is grateful, but now, in the freedom of the paddock, they have free reign.

If Kageyama could pick one thing about racing professionally that he possibly liked the least, outside of mechanical failures and losing races, it would be the press. At first it was a little thrilling, the compliments, the attention. But then it very quickly became intrusive and annoying. He didn’t mind answering controlled questions during pre-scheduled interviews or press conferences, but there was something about having a microphone and camera shoved in his face not ten minutes after he clambered out of his race car that just set his teeth on edge.

_“Kageyama! Kageyama! Do you think you’ve taken the win?”_

_“Did your car suffer any permanent damage?”_

_“Any news on the potential Dinoco sponsorship?”_

_“Kageyama! Can you address the rumours you’ve lost your entire pit crew?”_

And on and on it goes. He grits his teeth and does his best to ignore them all, the flashes in his face and the expensive equipment he doesn’t want to break, no matter how tempting it is. Romero is similarly silent beside him, aside from his pleasant smile and the occasional ‘thank-you’ whenever someone gave him a genuine compliment.

They both knew now was not the time to answer questions, for there would be a thousand more important ones once this announcement was done.

Finally, they reach the podium, and security swoop in swiftly to usher them both away from the press. Kageyama blows out a soft sigh of relief as the mob fades away into the background, and follows Romero up the steps to the area behind the podium’s stage.

The stage consists of an elevated platform, at the front of which is the podium itself, with the staggered raised steps for first, second and third places. Above the podium is the Piston Cup’s banner, and the whole thing is decorated in particular grandeur to signify the final race of the season. The cup itself is kept out of sight, guarded by officials until the time came to present it to the winner.

Behind the podium is a small, pop-up cabin type room. The inside is cramped, with a scattering of folding chairs and bottles of water for the drivers. Normally, the top three head there after every race until the ceremony is about to start – an incredibly awkward ritual every time. This year the top three normally consisted of Kageyama, who was either sulking he hadn’t taken first or giddily buzzed he’d won, Daishou, who seemed to exist to taunt regardless of how well he’d done and Romero, who maintained a perfect aura of calm at all times.

But today is different, and when Kageyama and Romero head inside they find Daishou already there, standing instead of sprawled in a chair sipping water like normal, and they all stand in silence, waiting.

“Pretty gutsy of you, forgoing any tyres to build up that lead… only to burst two on your victory lap,” Daishou finally says to Kageyama, but his tone is odd. It’s not so much taunting, as contemplative, and Kageyama genuinely has no idea whether he’s being goaded or praised.

He opts to say nothing, doing his best not to fidget. He folds his arms in lieu of not having enough pockets to stuff his hands into, and taps his foot restlessly against the floor. It feels like his heart might give out at any moment, with how hard and fast it’s beating away in his ribcage. His race suit, normally comfortable except for during the hotter day time races, feels stifling. Like he’s wrapped up too tight when all he wants to do is burst.

This is it. In a few minutes – seconds – he’ll find out whether all of his dreams have finally become a reality.

“ _Ladies and Gentlemen_ …” the race announcer starts speaking, his voice broadcast loud and clear across the entire stadium. “ _For the first time in Piston Cup history_ …”

Kageyama’s heart stops dead in chest. He feels oddly faint.

For the first time in history…? That seemed too grand for Daishou to have won, even if it would be his first championship, and there had been other racers with multiple championships before, so not Romero…

The youngest champion in history. The only rookie to have ever taken it.

It’s got to be him. Surely.

In a daze, he steps forward and reaches for the handle of the door that will lead them out, out of the cabin room and through the curtain onto the podium. He can feel a grin, wide and wobbly, stretch its way across his face as he twists the handle. The door opens with barely any noise, not that it can be heard over the roar of the crowd outside, and he steps through.

He’s just placed one hand on the curtain to pull it back to step through when-

“ _We have a three-way tie!”_

A what?

Kageyama freezes in place, shell shocked, still with his hand on the curtain.

“Well! That was very nearly incredibly embarrassing for you, wasn’t it rookie?” Daishou sing-songs with a snicker, stepping past him and pulling back the curtain himself, striding out to the thunderous applause.

There’s a thud of a steady hand against his back that could have only been from Romero, and Kageyama is jolted out of his stupor to follow the other racer through as well. He squints against the lights, too many and too bright considering it’s well into the night, as he makes his way to stand in line with his fellow racers. They’ve forgone standing on the staggered steps, opting to stand in front of them instead.

He stands between Romero and Daishou, who are both waving and grinning for the cameras as well as the crowd, and he offers up a meagre wave himself. He forgoes smiling – he’s too rattled to summon up a genuine one and early experience had taught him that trying to smile on command was not the best of ideas.

A three-way tie. They had all pulled over the line at the _same_ _time?_ It had to be miracle.

 _“The officials have decided that, as all three of our racers went into this race with equal points, and because they all finished in the same position, the tie will be settled in a one-off tiebreaker race one week from now!”_ The announcer goes on to say, and his voice, booming as it is across the stadium’s hundreds of speakers, is almost drowned out by the ecstatic roar of the crowd.

_“One week, at the International Speedway! The ultimate race that will decide this year’s Piston Cup champion! Please give it up for our challengers!”_

The noise is so loud Kageyama can barely think, which is just as well, because it feels like his head has been stuffed with cotton.

A tiebreaker race? It was unheard of… it was brilliant. One more chance. One more shot at showing everyone that he was the one who was going down in the record books.

“Hey rookie,” a voice says in his ear, and Kageyama tries not to jump at Daishou’s sudden proximity. “First one to the International Speedway gets Dinoco all to himself.”

Kageyama frowns in confusion as Daishou leans away, resuming his posturing and posing for the crowd.

His gaze slips away from the green-clad racer, and back over to Romero, and his Dinoco emblazoned race suit.

One whole week with only three competitors at the track? One of whom was retiring? It meant ample opportunity to perform – on the empty circuit right in front of Dinoco. Posting lap times and practicing and proving oneself as the perfect new driver. Not only that, but it was a good opportunity to go straight up to the head honcho himself – Hibarida Fuki – and strike up conversation.

Not that Kageyama was any good at that sort of thing – networking was always mainly handled by other people for him, chronically awful with people as he was, but he could try.

For the Dinoco sponsorship, he would try.

But first thing’s first, he’s got to leave this stadium.

* * *

If there was one person who Kageyama could count on to be loyal, who had been there since the very beginning of his professional racing career, it was Takinoue.

Takinoue Yuusuke was Kageyama’s transporter. A fairly simple job, ferrying Kageyama and his car from race track to race track, but he did it well.

(Although it was easy for Kageyama to be awed by Takinoue’s ability to get them to every track early without fail – for a racing driver, he was surprisingly disastrous with directions.)

But Takinoue wasn’t just a transporter, he was a friendly, older man, and a constant source of support. No matter how badly Kageyama did in a race, he always put a positive spin on it, and he was usually the first one to rush up to him with congratulations when he won and was free from duties with the press.

“Hey kid, nice job out there!” The man in question calls, as Kageyama heads towards him with relief.

The resulting press mob after the big tiebreaker race announcement had been excruciating. Louder and more oppressive than he could ever remember, it was more of a competition over which reporter could shout the loudest rather than he or the other racers being able to actually answer properly. Security and the officials had gotten annoyed just as quickly as the drivers, and the whole thing had been cut shorter than normal. The race had taken much longer than usual, and for many reasons, the circus had to be packed up and moved on.

There would almost certainly be a mass of reporters and another tedious conference at the International Speedway when they all arrived, but for now, Kageyama was free.

He speeds down the long line of trucks, each emblazoned with their respective driver’s livery and racing number. Some had their racer’s faces on them, others just the sponsor. Romero’s is a solid blue with just the Dinoco dinosaur logo on the side and his number. Daishou’s was a mess – a kaleidoscope of sponsors as well as his own face.

Kageyama had opted for just a photo of his car on the side of his.

His sponsor’s logo was visible on the bodywork, so they were happy, and Kageyama was happy with the simple design. It caused a few raised eyebrows when he first turned up with it – one of which was from Takinoue himself – but he likes the navy blue truck with his car on the sides. It’s _simple_ , and it means he doesn’t need to have face plastered all over it.

Most of the other teams are packing up – throwing equipment into the backs of smaller trucks or loading up the cars into the main ones – and Kageyama dodges around them until he reaches Takinoue, who’s leaning against one of the huge tyres attached the cab of his truck.

“Thanks,” Kageyama says breathlessly, tingling a little from the praise. It was the first bit of it he’d heard that didn’t have scorn stapled to the end. “But we gotta go.”

“Yeah, I know you’re in a hurry,” Takinoue says, pushing off from where he was leaning and planting his hands on his hips. “But you gotta go do your thing in the sponsor tent first.”

Kageyama groans, loud and long, and says, sulkily, “ _now?_ But this is important!”

“It’s in your contract,” Takinoue points out, with a grin just this side of wicked. Kageyama resists the urge to kick him in the ankle. “Come on, it won’t take long. You go give your speech, I’ll go load up your car.”

Kageyama mutters petulantly under his breath before nodding sullenly, and Takinoue cackles, patting him fondly on the shoulder before heading off. “Don’t worry, I’ll still get you there nice and early, I haven’t let you down yet have I?”

“No,” Kageyama admits, still pouting. He lets his transporter go, and slopes off towards the sponsor tents set just a little ways from the line of trucks. Takinoue gives him a jaunty wave and jogs off to where Kageyama had left his car in the pit lane. The man was the only person Kageyama trusted to actually drive his car, even if it was just from the pits to the truck, so he leaves the task in his transporter’s hands and crosses the paddock.

The Power Curry tent is small, much smaller than the other, larger sponsors, for which Kageyama is minutely grateful for. The smaller the tent meant less people inside. But the smaller the tent also meant the smaller the sponsor.

Power Curry was a ready meal brand, focusing on, shockingly, a variety of curries that could be prepared at home in just a few minutes. It had been moderately successful before they sponsored Kageyama, but now they were riding a new wave of sales thanks to their driver’s unanticipated massive success.

Kageyama pokes his head around the entrance flap of the tent, and is met with a small crowd of people of various ages, most of whom look like the harried type to rely on ready meals. Competition winners, all of them – Power Curry ran a competition for every race and winners who found a ticket in their lucky pack could come and watch the race from the paddock and meet the famed driver himself.

Immediately a cheer goes up, and the group of people – about twenty in total – start to surge towards him. Kageyama’s eyes widen and he takes an instinctive step back, not wanting to be mobbed by a bunch of strangers when a sturdy hand grips his arm and a shout goes up, loud enough to drown out the crowd.

“All right, get back everyone!”

Kageyama relaxes, just slightly, as he’s lead around the group of excited winners and through the tent. The hand belongs to one of the owners of Power Curry – a tall, hulking man whose size is in contrast to his mild nature. Power Curry’s budget doesn’t quite extend to a personal body guard, but with this man to hold back the sponsor’s guests through his bulk alone, one almost doesn’t seem needed.

“Congratulations kid!” A second man says to him enthusiastically as he’s herded up onto the small stage at the back of the tent.

His name is Shimada Makoto, and he’s the one who started up Power Curry, and convinced his brother – the much larger man – to look into motorsport sponsorship for extra income and publicity for the business. A lifelong motoring enthusiast, Shimada had raced in minor circuits in his youth, which was how he’d met his future husband, Takinoue.

(It’d been Takinoue who’d spotted Kageyama first, at a small racing circuit he and Shimada used to race on in their teens, and introduced him to Shimada. Power Curry was looking for a racer to sponsor, and Kageyama needed a sponsor to access the big leagues in racing, fast forward a couple of years… and here they all were.)

“Thank-you,” Kageyama says, feeling too awkward under the eyes of twenty-plus people watching to be more eloquent to his sponsor. It was strange, it was easy to tune out the thousands of people in the stadium but standing here, in an intimate space… it made his skin itch.

Shimada leans in close, with a grin so wide and his eyes sparkling just enough to tell Kageyama he might’ve broken into the celebratory champagne just a little bit early, and whispers, “I know you want to head off as soon you can, so just do your spiel and then you can go okay? No meet and greets.”

“Thanks,” Kageyama blows out, relieved. Normally he has to do at least a few of those, and he doesn’t really _mind_ them, especially for children, but everyone in the tent looks like an adult who’s had one too many complimentary drinks and he just wants to _go._ Turning on his heel, he stands in front of the crowd, trying to find a place to rest his hands that doesn’t look completely robotic as Shimada (somewhat needlessly) introduces him to the crowd.

“And now, a few words from the man himself! Kageyama Tobio!”

“Thank-you for all coming today,” Kageyama intones, the words sounding flat to even his own ears. He’s always been bad at this speech. “We ran a great race today, and look forward to many more future victories. We hope you’ll continue to support us in our next race. Remember, when you go home tonight, have a piping hot bowl of Power Curry just like me, because…” he lifts his right hand to make a half-hearted fist and tries to look serious. “Power Curry is like being in pole position – a guaranteed winner.”

It’s a stupid line and one he always delivers badly, but the crowd cheers nonetheless, and both the Shimada brothers look ecstatic as always.

“Ahh, thanks kid, you’re great,” Shimada the younger says, patting him exuberantly on the back. “We’ll see you in a couple of days for the big finale, can’t believe we’re gonna end the year as Piston Cup champions!”

Kageyama allows a tiny smile to tick up at the corner of his mouth. Posing for a ready meal brand was annoying, and the money the company could provide not great, but he does appreciate the faith.

There’s a rustle then behind them, and Takinoue pops his head through the rear flap of the tent, behind the stage.

“Ready to go?” He asks, shooting them a grin.

Kageyama turns to look at the Shimadas for confirmation, and they both smile widely at him. The younger steps forward to give him a playful shove, “go, _go!”_

Relieved, Kageyama raises a hand to wave once at the crowd behind him, who cheer, and then hurries forward to join Takinoue.

“A great end to a great year! Just the start of many great years, right? See you for the finale!” The elder Shimada calls after him, before turning back to hype up the small crowd. His brother darts forward to kiss his husband quickly, before making a shooing motion at the both of them.

Kageyama’s small smile goes tight at the edges as his transporter and sponsor exchange goodbyes. He wonders, not the first time, if Takinoue could be persuaded to join him at Dinoco if he got the sponsorship – or would he see it as a betrayal? It’s never been brought up, but surely Takinoue must know of Kageyama’s ambitions to rise up, and those ambitions didn’t include staying with a small sponsor for a great many years at all, and certainly not his whole career.

“Well then!” Takinoue says as they exit the tent proper, jolting Kageyama from his thoughts. “Let’s get you to the International Speedway!”

* * *

Leaving the stadium is a relief, and Kageyama finally lets his body unwind fully, leaning back in his seat and blowing out a sigh.

Most other drivers had different ways of getting from track to track (and in Romero’s case, certainly fancier ones), but Kageyama didn’t have those resources, and so here he was, sitting next to Takinoue in his transporter’s cab, his race car strapped securely in the truck behind.

It’s not that bad, all things considered. The seats are large and comfortable, designed for people to be sitting in them for hours on end, and Takinoue has had the interior done up to be dark and calm. The windows even have little curtains, in case they need to take a short nap. Music drifts out from the radio – some jaunty music from a station Kageyama cannot name, but he’s never fussy with Takinoue’s music choices and he taps his foot along idly to the beat, gazing out of the window.

As an official truck for a Piston Cup racer, security and police cars provide a clear route from the stadium and out onto the highway, and Kageyama watches as the stadium fades into the night, leaving only a long trail of cars – the spectators still queueing to leave.

It’s strange. He was supposed to either win or lose here – if he'd won, he’d still be at the stadium, celebrating, drawing up contracts... or he would’ve been gone hours ago if he’d lost. Probably would’ve stormed off, transporter or no, found somewhere private and quiet and far away to wallow. But instead he’s on the road again, for another race no-one could’ve expected.

He’s drifting, leaning back in his seat (reclined as far as it will go) and staring out of the window, seeing nothing but the track at the International Speedway, imagining his course, how he’ll handle racing against only two cars instead of forty-two, when Takinoue tapping his knee interrupts him.

“Think your phone’s ringing,” the other man says, as he switches off the radio with one hand, and then opens up the glove box, rooting around inside.

Kageyama doesn’t have much use for his phone at races – his sponsor and Takinoue are there in person, as are his pit crew (usually, he remembers with a wince. He’d forgotten to mention they’d quit to Shimada before he’d hurried off… hopefully someone will have a solution when they arrive at the track.) And he doesn’t have much need to be in contact with anyone else during, so he usually leaves it in the truck. Even outside of races, it rarely rings.

Takinoue fishes it out and passes it to Kageyama, who groans when he sees his agent’s name lighting up the screen.

The man is reasonably good at his job – he keeps Kageyama’s image in the press clean, he makes sure all of his interviews are with reputable publications and shows, but he does try to entice Kageyama with far too many endorsement deals. Which Kageyama is not interested in at all – he just wants to race. He gets enough money from interviews and his sponsorship deal and winnings to live comfortably and keep his car in top form, he doesn’t need any extra from promoting some clothing brand or whatever. No matter how much his agent wants him to do it.

Thankfully, when he takes the call, the man seems to have no deal on the table today, just full of the usual over the top praise that rings horribly fake. Kageyama is no fool – his agent sees him as a bank balance, not a successful sportsman.

“So! I have twenty tickets to this showdown race thing,” his agent says, suddenly deviating from his schmooze, and Kageyama sits up a little in his seat. “You just tell me the names, all your friends yeah? And I’ll get it all sorted. Heck if you need more I can probably get more, you’re the star after all!”

Kageyama jaw works and his fingers tighten over the phone as a horrible, swooping sensation goes through him.

He has no names.

He scrunches one hand in the leg of his racing suit – which he’s still wearing in his hurry to leave the track and couldn’t be bothered to change out of – crinkling the Power Curry logo on the fabric and wracks his brain. His parents are too busy to come, they’d made that abundantly clear years ago, and Miwa… Miwa was also at the top of her game right now. Flying high styling the best photoshoots, and would almost certainly be busy at such short notice, no matter how much he would like to see his sister.

And friends? Kageyama had no friends. Aside from Takinoue, at a push, but the man had a good two decades on him and was technically an employee.

“Too many names to think of right now, huh? I get it, Mr Popular,” his agent says, all tease and charm, and Kageyama’s stomach tightens up hot with deep embarrassment. “Well, just text me when you have a list, and I’ll get it done.”

Kageyama just manages to force out a mumbled thanks and goodbye before ending the call and all but throwing his phone into the still open glovebox. He turns in his seat to look forcefully out of the window, at the strips of light in the horizon that signal dawn is coming.

Beside him, Takinoue is quiet, and turns the radio up higher than it was before to cover for the awkward silence.

His agent’s voice was loud, and almost certainly carried from the phone speaker to echo in the cramped truck cab. Takinoue probably heard it all, including Kageyama’s poignant silence. He can feel eyes on him, and he sets his jaw harder, not wanting to look over his shoulder, lest he see sympathy or pity or anything else equally awful.

It’s fine. It’s _fine_. All he needs is to get to the International Speedway, and win.

Winning’s the most important thing, after all.


	2. Welcome to Karasuno Springs!

Kageyama grips at his half empty bottle of Ramune and tries not to look too impatient as Takinoue yawns around his cup of coffee.

They’re sitting in the cab of the truck at a rest stop, after spending the entire day on the road.

Takinoue was nothing if not efficient, and had driven solidly from when the sun started to rise as they left the last stadium until it just disappeared again from the horizon. That meant it was only early in the evening, but Kageyama supposes they both have been awake for at least twenty-four hours now.

Kageyama feels okay, himself. He’s too wired and excited to really sleep even if he wanted to, and the occasional bite to eat and drink from the rest stops along the highways had been enough to keep him going. Takinoue had seemed pretty perky for most of the day too – he’d slept for most of the day before what should have been the last race of the Piston Cup, as it was a night race, and he was used to long drives, but now he seems to be flagging.

“Ah kid, I gotta take a nap,” Takinoue yawns, draining the rest of his cup of coffee and crumpling the empty paper cup in his hand, stuffing it into a small plastic bag between the seats that was acting as an impromptu bin.

“How far away is the International Stadium?” Kageyama asks, trying to sound innocent and not pushy. He doesn’t want to demand Takinoue keep going, but he also doesn’t think he could handle sitting here wide awake just waiting for his transporter to wake back up again. Normally he takes naps at the same time, but this time he’s just too wound up for it.

Takinoue shoots him a sleepy smile, clearly not falling for it. “Not far, we’ll still get there by mid-morning if you let me catch a few hours.” He tilts his head back until it bumps and against the headrest and adjusts his seat until it’s reclining all the way back.

Kageyama watches him settle in and close his eyes and tries very hard not to sulk. He raises the Ramune bottle to his lips to drain the rest of the drink – not his ideal preference, but he really didn’t like coffee much and he needed something livelier than water. Bottle emptied, he tosses it into the ‘bin’ and folds his arms as flops back against his seat.

He manages to stay still for all of ten minutes, before he’s sitting up again and reaching for the door handle. Opening his door as quietly as possible so as to not wake Takinoue up, he hops down from the cab with a grunt.

Might as well stretch his legs, he supposes, even though he wandered around plenty when they first pulled into the rest stop and Takinoue went to buy them food. He stretches out his arms and legs and winces at the starchy pull of his race suit. Not for the first time, he regrets not keeping a change of clothes in the truck – he tends to just keep the essentials with him (so, car and phone) and leave a suitcase full of everything else with his racing equipment, which his crew normally handled transporting between each circuit.

(The… _resignation_ of his crew had unfortunately come to light about half way through the drive, when Takinoue clearly thought enough time had passed for him to safely bring it up. Kageyama had been reluctant, but after enough prodding and poking, he admitted the rumours were true and, even more reluctantly, called Shimada to explain.

His sponsor hadn’t exactly been impressed, but he was too buzzed from the day before and the upcoming race to be too angry, and had promised to get in contact with the crew. Kageyama highly doubted he could convince them to come back, but at the very least Shimada promised to arrange the transportation of his equipment if the crew refused to return.)

He walks a couple of laps around the truck to dispel some restless energy before stopping at the back of the truck, gazing longingly up at the rear door. He’d asked Takinoue earlier about the remaining drive – it’s just one straight road. One highway from here to the International Speedway, which was so popular it had its own signposts. Takinoue had even joked Kageyama could make it there himself if he wanted, disastrous sense of direction and all.

Well… what if Kageyama did?

Maybe it’s from being strung out for so many hours or maybe he was just that wound up, but the more Kageyama switches his gaze between the highway stretched out just beyond the rest stop and the truck where his car is kept the more it actually sounds like a good idea.

Kageyama gnaws on his bottom lip before he jogs around to the cab and opens Takinoue’s door. His transporter doesn’t even notice, dead to the world as he is, and doesn’t react at all when Kageyama reaches up to nab the keys still in the ignition. He drops down from the cab again and returns back to the rear of the truck, where he stuffs the keys into the control panel at the side so that the rear door will open.

It makes a little too much noise for Kageyama’s liking, but Takinoue isn’t springing awake and flinging himself from the cab, so he figures it’s okay to keep going. Slowly, the door swings open, and a ramp extends with a low hiss of hydraulics. Kageyama clambers in when it’s done, striding straight up to where his car sits.

He makes short work of removing its protective cover and the straps holding the tyres in place. Once uncovered, he leans on the gleaming, dark blue hood and stares down at his precious car.

It doesn’t have headlights – just glass over where they should be, to make it lighter. It doesn’t need them, the tracks are always lit, and he shouldn’t need them now. The highway is lit so brightly Kageyama figures they’d almost be pointless anyway.

He has a tank full of fuel, fresh tyres, and an easy route.

Blowing out a breath, he runs his thumbs over the cool metal as he considers. He could just wrap the car back up, close the door and clamber into his seat, try and sleep. Wait for Takinoue.

But he could also go. Right now. And the first driver at the track would look the most keen, the most determined to win. He had to get there before Daishou did, and he had to get there in time for Dinoco to see him bolt around the track with no distractions.

Mind made up, he dashes back to the cab up front. Throwing himself up, he rummages around in the glove box to fetch out a pen and the puzzle book Takinuoue always kept in there. He finds a page with enough blank space and rips it out to scribble a message.

_I’m going on ahead, see you at the Speedway – Kageyama._

There, easy enough. He folds up the note and places it gently in Takinoue’s lap where he will definitely see it. Then he returns the truck’s keys to the ignition and leaves the cab, closing his door for one final time.

Slipping into the driver’s seat of his Corvette, Kageyama fishes his own keys from the one singular pocket of his race suit and starts up the engine. It’s hard not to make too much noise, the Stingray being as powerful as it is, but, he figures, he’ll be long gone before Takinoue registers it’s his car if he does wake up.

He rolls down the ramp out of the truck, turns out of the rest stop, waits for a gap and then seamlessly joins the traffic streaming down the highway, engine roaring as he goes.

* * *

The drive down the highway turns out to be no more titillating than sitting as a passive passenger, even if it was taking him closer to his goal.

Kageyama plonks one elbow on his door, resting his head on his hand and rubbing his fingers, hard, over his temple. He’d rolled down the window earlier, hoping the breeze whipping by would help wake him up a bit.

People frequently said driving in the Piston Cup must be boring, because of the oval circuits, but Kageyama personally thinks driving at a steady speed down a long straight road with nothing but taillights for company is a million times worse. At least in the truck there was the radio. In his car there was nothing but the sound of the wind whistling in his ears.

He sighs and runs his fingers over his steering wheel, which he hasn’t turned in about thirty minutes. It’s still dark outside, and he doesn’t know exactly how far he is from the International Speedway, but he does know that they should have gotten there by early morning if Takinoue hadn’t stopped. If there’s no sign of dawn, then he must still have a long way to go.

Fighting back a yawn, Kageyama fidgets in his seat, starting to accept that now he was actually the one driving, it was a lot more difficult to stay as ramped up as he was before. Suddenly, the fact he hasn’t slept in so long is starting to catch up with him.

He’s just mulling over the benefits of physically sticking his head out of the window in the hopes a cold blast of air directly on his face would help when something bright and _loud_ streaks up next to him and into his line of vision.

Strike that, _several_ somethings.

They’re hot rodders, Kageyama realises. Bright, flashy cars with no real substance to them other than to be loud – both in noise and in design.

There’s a stocky one in blue, with neon strips up the sides resembling volume control. A flatter, sleek purple car with nitrous cans on the rear. A neon green one, with such a high rear spoiler Kageyama is actually surprised it can be driven, especially at speed. The last one isn’t as bright – a muted gold – but it has its engine built on top of the hood, visible and noisy.

They all move in a synchronised line, oddly rhythmic for a bunch of people looking for thrills on a highway late at night.

One of them, the driver of the purple car with the nitrous, pulls up close to Kageyama in the neighbouring lane and shouts and hollers at him through his open windows with a wide grin. Kageyama stares at him impassively, unimpressed, before sitting up straight again to press the button for his window to roll up again.

He’s very aware that he himself is in a flashy car – loud engine, race decals down the side, fast and eye-catching, and that the hot rodders are probably just excited to see him, but he has no time for them.

For once, he wants to be very boring and stay trundling on to his destination.

The driver of the blue car turns his radio up and he must have some sort of highly modified sound system attached because the music is _loud_. It thumps across the road and through the chassis of Kageyama’s car and makes his teeth rattle.

It drowns out the sounds of the drivers’ laughter and noise, but seems to only get them more revved up. They switch between lanes rapidly, other cars either speeding up to get away or slowing down deliberately to keep their distance.

All of a sudden, Kageyama finds himself boxed in by all four of them, one in front, behind and on each side. They must think he wants to join in and he growls in frustration, tired and annoyed and not in the mood.

The colours of their paintjobs are harsh and bright on his exhausted eyes and Kageyama puts up with the noise for only a few moments more before he puts his engine where his mouth is.

The Corvette roars, deafening and domineering and drowning out that ridiculous sound system entirely. He makes to change lane, effectively nudging the driver of the gold car with the engine mount out of the way. He sees the driver’s eyes widen as he realises that Kageyama’s car is both bigger and more powerful and if he doesn’t move out of the way – _fast_ – he’s only going to end up in the dirt on the side of the road as the Stingray bullies him out of the way.

The driver brakes, hard, sending his car shooting back with a loud engine splutter and Kageyama smirks as he drifts into the free lane, punching the gas to leap away from the group of hot rodders.

It’s only when he glances back at them in his rear view mirror that he notices the driver of the purple car smirking at him.

Frowning, he returns his eyes to the road, only to swear in aggravation when he realises he’s ended up on an exit slip road, heading straight off the highway. He flings his head to the side to check but it’s too late, he can’t reverse and rejoin the highway now, not without getting into a collision. He brakes and hovers, at a standstill, on the road and watches the hot rodders drive away, four points of neon annoyance, and seethes.

Then a horn blares from behind him and he jolts, restarting his journey down the road.

It’s fine, he’ll just have to rejoin the highway as soon as possible.

But it becomes very clear very quickly that this much easier said than done.

Now he’s left the gleaming trail of the highway, just how _dark_ it really is outside starts to hit home. With no headlights, he can only just about see the road in front directly of him, and definitely not any road signs. And any other vehicles were too far away to act as beacons. He can still see the highway in the distance, but the more he drives the further it seems to get, and the deeper the darkness becomes as he just can’t seem to find the right road.

Frustration soon gives way to actual panic, as Kageyama becomes painfully aware that he is very alone and very lost, in the middle of the night with no illumination to see or be seen, and the situation is only getting worse.

The strip of lights signalling the highway is now thin and barely twinkling in the dark, and Kageyama licks his lips and grips his steering wheel and tries his best not to lose his mind entirely. He’ll just have to… go off road for a bit, bomb it across the dirt and hope the closer he gets the easier it will be to see and then he can find another slip road to rejoin.

Heart pounding, he floors the accelerator and guns it.

He barely makes it a few hundred feet before red and blue lights light up the darkness behind him, and an old, wailing siren soon follows.

“A police car?” He murmurs, his immediate reaction being to have his heart leap into his throat because he is _definitely_ speeding and he is certainly in for a ticket.

Then that thought quickly morphs into sheer relief because the officer should be able to at least help him after the aggravating telling off.

He’s just slowing down when, suddenly, there’s a noise.

_Bang._

And then another, and another, and Kageyama’s heart rate nearly triples as he stamps on the gas again, lurching his Corvette forwards.

The officer was _shooting_ at him? _Why was he shooting at him?_

The bangs don’t cease, and the long, drawn out panic of the night escalates into full blown fright. Kageyama immediately starts weaving, hoping his tyres won’t get blown out. Logically, he should stop, _now_ , but all logic was thrown out of the window as sleep deprivation and isolation and anxiety all coalesce into one thought: get away, and get away _now_.

The stingray hurtles along, sometimes smoothly as if on road, and sometimes juddering as if on dirt, but Kageyama can’t see anything in front of him to tell. It’s pitch black and he can't see and the terror of it clings to his lungs and forces only short, juddering breaths in and out of him, loud and echoing in the silence of the night.

Then, looming up out of the gloom, appears something large, tall and orange and Kageyama shrieks as the large obstacle takes him by surprise and blocks his way. He wrenches at his steering wheel and avoids a collision just in time, only to skip and skid over lose dirt until he’s careering through the dark and through what he thinks is a wire fence, complete with a few fence posts.

Bangs creep closer to signal the police car is still nearby and Kageyama wrestles with his car to gain some control and once again floors it. He shoots down what appears to be a wide road, with the shadows of buildings either side and only one singular, blinking traffic light the only landmarks he can see. He continues down the road until a statue of some sort pops up at the end and he cries out again, somehow managing to circle a perfect doughnut around it.

As the Stingray drifts, something catches against the wire fence still wrapped around the car’s body. Whatever it was is _heavy_ and drags his car back, unyielding.

Kageyama’s breath heaves in and out rapidly as he switches gears and flattens the accelerator. The Corvette’s engine shrieks in protest, almost deafening, until the heavy object _shifts_ and then the Stingray is off, shooting back down the way Kageyama came.

But nowhere near up to speed, as whatever the heavy object was is still stuck, dragging behind the Corvette and sucking its power away. It makes an awful racket as it’s pulled along the ground, a horrible combination of metallic screaming and thundering cracking.

It was like trying to drive through quicksand, as though he was going hardly anywhere no matter how many revs the engine forced itself through. And the _sound_ – Kageyama feared his eardrums might burst, such was the combination of the high pitched shrieking from behind him, like metal on metal, and the despairing wail of his struggling engine.

And then, as he reaches the other end of what appears to be the road he was on, as the orange giants once rise again rise up in the dark, the _thing_ attached his car gives way entirely as the wire fencing ensnaring it snaps.

Suddenly loose, the Stingray launches forwards with a sudden burst of speed from the release, and Kageyama thinks maybe, _maybe_ he can drive to freedom now. He hasn’t heard the shots or the siren or seen the red and blue lights of the police car for a while now. And then, just as his stuttering heart finds a little bit of rhythm again, another fence pops up in the darkness and Kageyama once again tries to swerve.

Only this time, he doesn’t make it, and the Corvette spins straight into the wooden fence posts side-on, the whole car rocking as it does.

Kageyama is thrown around in his seat as his car collides, despite his seatbelt, the force of it enough to send him lurching towards his driver’s side window.

His temple connects against the glass with a sickening thud, and then he knows no more.

* * *

Kageyama regains consciousness to a pair of eyes peering at him and a hand on his shoulder.

He blinks once, then twice, then suddenly full awareness comes back to him all in a rush as he registers that he has _no idea_ who the man staring down at him _is._

With a strangled yell, he scoots back along the flat, skinny bed he finds himself stretched across.

Sitting bolt upright, heart thudding madly in his chest as panic starts to truly grip at him, Kageyama stares wildly around the room he’s ended up in, wondering hysterically whether he’s been kidnapped.

It’s a small room, square, with bare walls and just a toilet in the corner and the bunk-type bed he’s sitting on. It’s clean, at least, for a kidnapper’s lair. Kageyama swallows thickly, feeling suddenly rather sick.

“You okay there, kid?” A voice asks, and Kageyama spins his gaze on the man who had woken him up.

He’s about to let out another undignified shriek at his would-be-kidnapper when his frazzled brain logs the uniform the man is wearing.

A _policeman’s_ uniform.

Kageyama feels a minute amount of tension leave him as he sweeps his eyes around the room once more, just now taking in how one wall isn’t a wall at all. It’s a row of steel bars, from the ceiling to the floor, with one section that opens out into the building beyond.

It’s a cell.

He’s… in prison?

Kageyama swings his legs off the bunk, but doesn’t try to get up, just plants his feet on the floor and his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands as he tries to fight back the headache that’s steadily building between his temples. Why was he in _prison?_ What happened…?

The policeman’s hand settles on his shoulder again. “Do you want a glass of water?”

Kageyama hesitates, keeping his face pressed against his palms as he considers. It’s a kind voice, and perhaps it’s very naïve of Kageyama to think so, but the man _sounds_ honest. And his throat is quite parched and he really could do with some water…

“Yes please,” he croaks finally, nodding his head but not looking up and he feels the hand against his shoulder squeeze once before the man leaves his side, slipping out of the opening in the barred wall.

Releasing a long sigh, Kageyama lets his hands drop, but continues to bow his head, frowning at the floor. Now the initial shock had worn off, he starts to remember snatches of what happened before he fell asleep, or… perhaps unconscious?

The International Speedway. He was driving to the International Speedway. Takinoue was… Takinoue wanted to sleep, at the rest station, and Kageyama had wanted to _go_ , so he’d… taken his car, got on the highway, and gone. And then there was the bright cars – hot rodders – the ones that had distracted him, forced him to take that turning. Where it was dark, with no lights to guide him and his own car lacking any headlights at all… and when he’d tried to return to the highway in the distance…

Kageyama’s head snaps up with realisation just as the police officer returns, with the glass of water as promised.

Taking the offered glass with a murmured thanks, Kageyama tries to get a good look at the officer without trying to make it too obvious that he’s staring.

He’s a fairly tall man, broad, with neat dark hair underneath his policeman’s cap and dark eyes. He looks to be a fair bit older than Kageyama, forties perhaps, or maybe a bit older, judging from the lines around his eyes. He takes back the glass when Kageyama finishes it and settles it down on the floor by his feet. Then he folds his arms and peers down at him, his face a cross between stern and mild concern. “Better? You hit your head pretty hard…”

Kageyama’s brow knits as he vaguely recalls his temple thunking against the driver’s side window. He reaches up with one hand and runs it over his skull and through his hair – there’s a tender spot, by his temple, but otherwise he seems to be in one piece. There’s a small headache there, but, mostly he feels okay. “I’m fine… what time is it?” He asks, throat working better now thanks to the water.

“About ten in the morning,” the policeman replies, and Kageyama jolts in his seat.

Ten in the morning? He was supposed to have been at the International Speedway at _least_ two hours ago!

“Yeah we figured you were conked out for so long because you were wiped, not because you hit your head,” the policeman goes to say, apparently misreading Kageyama’s face of shock. He gestures at the race suit Kageyama is still wearing. “That fancy car… and this? You were at some late-night race or something, right? Didn’t get any sleep?”

“Something like that…” Kageyama says, and finally pushes himself to his feet. There’s a brief instance of dizziness from standing up so fast, but it clears quickly as he shakes his head to clear it. Truth was, he _was_ tired, and probably could’ve done with the night’s sleep, but now he needs to- “I have to go.”

“Yeah... buddy, you’re not just walking out of here, you know that right?”

“… Huh?” Kageyama croaks back eloquently as he takes in the sly smile on the older man’s face.

The policeman sighs. “Okay. First thing’s first, I’m Sawamura Daichi, and I’m the officer for this town. Most everyone calls me Daichi.”

Kageyama’s thrown by this introduction, but he follows along with it anyway. “Kageyama Tobio…”

“Nice to meet you. Now, do you remember what happened last night? When you arrived in my town in the dead of night doing almost ninety miles an hour?”

Kageyama’s frown deepens and he purses his mouth in thought. He’d gotten lost, and there had been that… police car. And the noises… gunshots? And then he’d ended up in a town, he thinks, but hardly any of it was lit and it was hard to see, and there was something heavy attached to his car that caused him to use all of his engine to get it to move…

“Were you shooting at me?” He settles on, thinking this to be the most prudent question. It’s slowly starting to dawn on him that he’s woken up in a prison cell of all things, and not a clinic, or a motel at least. Clearly he’s in trouble for _something_ , but he has no idea what. All he did was get lost and break the speed limit a little – and wasn’t that normally just a fine?

“… No,” Daichi says, after a moment’s pause. He’s giving Kageyama a very incredulous look, which Kageyama privately feels is a little unnecessary. “That was my engine backfiring, the car’s a little old… Is that why you were swerving and zooming around the place like that? I don’t even have a gun! And even if I did I wouldn’t be _shooting_ at you!”

“I panicked! They sounded like gunshots!” Kageyama protests, waving his hands irritably. How was he supposed to know it was an engine? It’s been years since he was around an engine old enough to backfire _that_ loudly.

“Even so!” Daichi interrupts loudly, the stern look back again, “you were speeding by a considerable amount before that, and I know I put my lights on first. Not to mention the damage you caused to the town with all of your quite frankly ridiculous driving.”

“Damage?” Kageyama echoes, “Is that why I’m here?”

“Yes, it’s pretty… significant. If it was just speeding I’d hit you with my best ticket and send you on your way… with an order to get some damn headlights too. But as it is, it’s a little more than that. Got a lot of angry townsfolk at the mess you made.”

Kageyama shuffles on the spot and tries not to look too petulant. How much of a mess could he have possibly made? He was happy to just write a cheque or something…

“A mess is a mess, but you somehow managed to tear up the main road pretty badly in your stampede, so that’s why we’re heading to the courthouse now,” Daichi says, and turns on his heel, gesturing for Kageyama to follow him out of the cell.

“Courthouse?” Kageyama echoes, baffled. At least his hands are free, he thinks as he eyes the shiny pair of handcuffs attached to Daichi’s belt. It seems Daichi is conscientious policeman.

“Yeah. Courthouse, town hall… kind of both really. The mayor wants to see you, and the town lawyer. You got a lawyer?” Daichi shoots over his shoulder as they walk down a very short hallway and end up in what appears to be the main lobby of the police station. Which consists of a desk, a couple of chairs, and a corkboard with a selection of old bits of paper stuck to it.

“Maybe…” Kageyama replies vaguely, suddenly unsure. He must have one, as a top racer, but his agent probably handles all of that… and he has no way of contacting him right now. Kageyama winces to himself as it suddenly occurs to him that in his hurry to leave, he’d left his phone behind in the glove box of Takinoue’s truck. And he certainly doesn’t know his agent’s number off of the top of his head – he doesn’t even know his _own_.

They exit the station and immediately Kageyama starts squinting.

It may only be ten in the morning, but it is already bright outside, the sun high in the sky. For the first time, he sees his surroundings in the daylight and he frowns. It’s… dusty. He had had no idea when it was the dead of night and all he could see was the streetlamp lit highway, but he’s in the middle of a particularly arid area, it seems. Red dirt everywhere and mountains in the distance and only a very few trees. And it’s also _hot_ , he realises as he pulls at the collar of his race suit. The police station must have air conditioning, so he didn’t notice at first, but the heat outside is palpable.

“We’ll go the back way, that way people won’t bother you,” Daichi says, and starts to walk in a direction that Kageyama supposes he should follow. It occurs to him briefly that he could run, but then… where would he go? In this heat he was more likely to faint from heat stroke before he actually found his car, wherever that was. He supposes this is what Daichi is banking on and he sighs irritably as he trudges after him. Hopefully this whole debacle won’t take up too much more of his time.

“Where’s my car?” He asks.

“At the impound, not too far from here, but you can’t really see it from this angle. Don’t worry, it’s locked up, no-one will steal it,” Daichi replies, but Kageyama scowls, still unhappy with that response. The thought of his precious car being stored somewhere he hadn’t checked beforehand made him antsy. To stave off any spiralling thoughts of it being stolen, he takes stock of his surroundings instead.

The police station seems to be set a little ways from… wherever they are, some little country town off the highway, apparently. There’s a road, kind of skinny, which winds off into the distance across the dirt. Kageyama supposes that’s the road that leads back to the highway. The station is set close to the road, and he spies the policeman’s car parked nearby – indeed, quite a vintage model.

As they walk, a sign in the distance looms up – with cartoon cars painted on it in peeling and faded paint. “ _Welcome to Karasuno Springs!”_ It says, the letters encircled in a speech bubble that points to a cartoon crow, perched on one of the cars in the drawing. It would be charming, he supposes, if it was up to date. But the worn look to it just seems to give it an almost eerie vibe more than anything else.

Beyond the sign, the road thickens, until it becomes wide and broad, and a variety of buildings pop up along the thoroughfare. He’s too far to see most of them clearly, but they appear to be businesses rather than houses. There’s one a fair distance away that seems to have a selection of massive traffic cones as part of its layout, and Kageyama boggles. Those must be the orange giants that panicked him so badly in the dead of night, though he has no idea what they could possibly be for.

“This way!” Daichi calls, and Kageyama drags his eyes away from the huge orange cones, now satisfied he wasn’t actually hallucinating them.

The policeman leads them around the back of the businesses, across worn dirt paths. More of them snake off from the one they tread, leading away to what must be the towns’ houses – a small collection of one floor properties, all painted and cheery, a couple with classic cars outside. It’s charming, Kageyama thinks, and it sort of reminds of him of the town back home, only drier and more arid. At home it rained a lot, but the small houses and the criss-cross of telephone wires from each house is sort of nostalgic.

Daichi leads them past the houses and along the paths, until the backs of the businesses fade into a tall, grand, red brick building that towers above them all. Of all the buildings so far, this one seems the best cared for – clean and neat, and with _Karasuno Town Hall_ imprinted into the façade at the front.

“Here we are,” Daichi says, “come on, we’ll go in this way.” He leads Kageyama down the side of the building, away from the grand oak doors at the front. There’s a smaller door, still oak, set into the side and Daichi opens it, ushering Kageyama through.

The building inside is cool and surprisingly bright – sunlight streaming in through tall windows and large fans twirling lazily overhead. The inside doesn’t seem to have many rooms – Daichi has taken them through what looks to be a fire exit – just a long, wide hallway that ends in another door.

“Courtroom’s through there. And the main hall. It’s just this and the vestibule really,” Daichi says. He goes on ahead and opens the door, peering through.

Immediately, there’s a rumble of voices echoing through the crack – many of them loud and angry, and Kageyama swallows thickly, suddenly nervous. What kind of damage had he _done?_

“Okay, they’re ready,” Daichi says, and he reaches back to grip Kageyama’s upper arm. It’s probably so that he looks like he has the ‘criminal’ under control, and normally Kageyama would try and shake him off, but actually the touch feels rather grounding, especially considering the environment they were about to walk into.

The door opens into a large, grand room. There are more windows – tall and open, more fans on the ceiling, and the whole room is painted a fresh cream with dark wood decals. It would be nice, Kageyama thinks, if not for the small crowd of incredibly irate people huddled around the wooden benches in the back half of the room. There’s two groups, one on each side, with a space in between them to walk down.

The townsfolk are all older – middle aged, like Daichi, mostly, maybe some of them in their thirties, and they all look some version of cross. Some of them aren’t saying anything, some just grumbling, and some were being outright vocal. There were two – one very short with wild hair with a blond streak dyed in it, and one with a completely shaved head, who were being particularly noisy.

“ _Quieten down!_ You’re just yelling for the sake of yelling,” Daichi barks at them as he marches Kageyama past. Surprisingly, they both do, looking almost sheepish.

The walk of shame, as it were, ends in two spots marked vaguely on the floor. Daichi leads Kageyama to one of them and lets go of his arm, standing to attention by his side. Kageyama shuffles in place, feeling more uncomfortable than he had ever been before in his whole life. This was, without a doubt, one of the strangest things that had ever happened to him – just a few hours ago he was driving to the International Speedway, and now he was in a courthouse in some random country town with a small mob at his back.

He shuts his eyes and sucks in a deep breath, willing his whirling mind to calm. Treat it like a race, he thinks, just tune everyone out. They’re just like spectators at races – here to watch and make noise, just ignore them.

It starts to work, until the door at the end of the hall bangs open again and Kageyama jumps violently.

In stroll two men – one of them older, with strange, bleached hair held back with a hairband and a grumpy expression, and the other younger, perhaps about mid-thirties, also with blond hair but it looked natural. He was dressed in a suit with sharp glasses and, in comparison to his companion, looked almost bored.

The town lawyer and the mayor, Kageyama guesses, and he tries not to fidget too obviously as they come closer. As least their appearance had caused the townspeople to quiet down into a murmur.

The man in the suit – the lawyer, Kageyama thinks – steps up to the spot on the floor that mirrors where Kageyama and Daichi are standing. The other man – the mayor - in a shirt and slacks but altogether looking far more casual than the lawyer strides up to the other end of the room, which is bare save from a tall dock that rises up above everyone else. He climbs up the steps behind it and leans on the surface on top, raising a hand to silence the remaining murmurs.

“All right! Good morning everyone, sorry to have dragged you all here today. As I’m sure most of you are perfectly aware, we had a little… _incident,_ last night,” the mayor says, voice loud and booming around the room. Kageyama swallows. “Now, who is this reckless hot rodder that crashed in here and ruined our road?”

Kageyama pauses before slowly raising his hand. Beside him, he thinks he sees Daichi smile out of the corner of his eye, but then a pit of despair starts to grow deep in his stomach as the mayor turns in the dock and levels him with a fierce, angry glare.

“The accused’s name is Kageyama Tobio, Mayor Ukai,” Daichi supplies, his face once again a picture of professionalism.

Ukai doesn’t reply at first, aside from a nod of acknowledgement towards Daichi, and he leans over the dock to stare long and hard at Kageyama, who resists every urge he has to fidget. Slowly, he lowers his hand again, both arms held stiffly by his sides. “Racing driver, huh?” Ukai says eventually, once he’s finished with his appraisal. He leans back again to stand up straight, and rubs a hand over his chin. “Well that explains the fancy car…”

“Mayor Ukai, I had already spoken with Officer Sawamura before we convened here today,” the lawyer pipes up, and Kageyama only just then notices the swath of papers he’s holding, which he passes up to Ukai.

Ukai hums as he looks them over, and glances up at Daichi. “Summary?” He asks.

“Suspect was caught speeding just out of town,” Daichi responds. “I chased him, but he ignored the siren and lights to signal for him to pull over. From what I understand, he mistook the sounds of my engine as… gunshots,” here a titter goes up through the crowd behind, and Kageyama feels his cheeks redden. “The sounds apparently caused him to panic, and due to the lack of headlights on the vehicle, this is why he swerved and crashed across the main thoroughfare of Main Street. I believe some sort of steel pole got wrapped up in a wire fence he’d crashed through, which, when dragged along the ground, is what caused the damage to the road.”

So that’s what he’d done, Kageyama thinks, with a slight sigh of relief. Wrecked a road? Well that wasn’t too bad, roadworks went on all the time. He’d been concerned he’d managed to wreck an entire building or something.

“I… see,” Ukai says, looking caught between highly unimpressed and also somewhat amused. “Sounds like your typical racing idiot fare – you get lost on your way home from a race or something, kid?”

Kageyama jolts as he’s addressed. “Something like that,” he confirms, awkwardly.

Ukai grunts and looks back down at the papers scattered across his dock. “What’s all this then, Tsukishima?”

“My recommendation for the sentence for accused,” the lawyer –Tsukishima – supplies, still looking bored.

Kageyama makes a small noise of protest – _sentence?_ Are they going to try and send him back to that prison, or something? His knowledge of courts is minimal at best, but that doesn’t sound legal, even to him.

“Officer Sawamura should be able to issue the accused with the penalty tickets for the speeding and the lack of working headlights on a road vehicle,” Tsukishima goes on to say. “So the remaining matter is the road.” Here, he turns on the spot and faces Kageyama directly, who can’t help but frown back at the incredibly irritating blank look on the other man’s face. “You are clearly unaware, but the road you ruined is actually the main road connecting and leading to all of this town’s businesses. It’s very important.”

“Yeah!” A voice pipes up, and soon others join in.

“People won’t be able to buy tyres!”

“What about the gas station? If that’s cut off then nobody will be able to go anywhere!”

“ _Enough!”_ Ukai calls out, silencing them all again. “We know you’re angry, I heard plenty of it from you all earlier. Continue, Tsukishima.”

“Thank-you. This town is small, and so we only have the one handyman, who is already inundated with too many jobs as it is, and re-paving the road is a mammoth task that will put him behind with several other commitments-”

“Didn’t Hinata get started already?” The short man with wild hair asks, and his shaved friend elbows him to be quiet.

“As I said,” Tsukishima says, speaking slightly louder and finally starting to look annoyed himself – a welcome break from the blankness before. “He’s _busy._ It’s simply not fair to let him fix the road and let the man who caused all the damage walk free.”

“And so you are suggesting…?” Ukai prompts.

“Let _him_ fix the road,” Tsukishima says, and a small, smarmy smile ticks up across his face. “That way our road is fixed, and our handyman remains free to complete his jobs as normal. That should mean the town gets back to normality as soon as possible.”

“Hang on,” Kageyama protests, finally finding his voice. The fines he could deal with – his agent wouldn’t be happy with him, certainly, but it wasn’t as though he couldn’t afford to pay them. And he would be far from the first racing driver to get a speeding ticket. “Why am _I_ fixing the road? Can’t you just… hire someone?”

“Community service, huh?” Ukai muses, ignoring Kageyama.

“I think it’s the most elegant solution,” Tsukishima says, and turns his attention back to Kageyama again, who’s spluttering his indignation. “You’re a racing driver, correct?”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Kageyama spits, gesturing at himself. What, did all of these country idiots think he just wandered around in a race suit plastered with sponsorship logos for fun?

“Then you must have a reputation, a public image? It certainly would be… _terrible_ , if word got out you were speeding and then caused quite a lot of public damage. The details… those can be fluffed, and we all know how the press _love_ a scandal,” Tsukishima says, and that smile widens. “I’m quite a good lawyer you know, it wouldn’t be difficult. This really is your best option – pay your fines, fix the road, and nothing more will come from this. You’ll be able to go back to your life in the fast lane and nobody would be none the wiser.”

“Are you… _blackmailing_ me?” Kageyama demands, flabbergasted.

“Not at all, I’m simply laying out your options. If you ask me, serving community service really is the easiest solution for you.”

Kageyama gapes, suddenly too shocked to feel an anger. Community service? For an _accident?_ This guy couldn’t be serious. But… that threat of his public image being ruined. That was a real problem, it would certainly cause any potential Dinoco sponsorship to go up in smoke before it had even begun.

He curls his hands into fists and grits his teeth and seethes. It seems he’s stuck. He’ll just have to get this over with as quickly as possible and get out of here as soon as he could – his future is at the International Speedway _right now._

“Well then,” Ukai says, as he hops down from the dock and strolls up to Kageyama’s side, smiling far too wide and looking far too pleased with himself. Kageyama feels his stomach tighten up unpleasantly. “Let’s get you to Bessie.”

“… Bessie?” Kageyama repeats, as the feeling of dread enveloping his soul deepens, “who’s _Bessie?”_

* * *

Bessie, it turns out, is a road paving machine.

Kageyama stares, with no small amount of horror, at the monstrous thing. Pale yellow and rusting, it towers above him, stinking and hot with the occasional belch of flame from its rear, where gravel and concrete were being molten down together. Kageyama lets his eyes rove over it, from the huge roller to the cheerful ‘Bessie’ painted in peeling white paint on the side.

“Hinata should have her up and running any time now,” Ukai muses next him, rubbing his chin.

They’re standing just outside of the courthouse which, Kageyama can see now he’s not quite so frazzled and distracted, sits at the top of what appears to be the town’s main thoroughfare, with a bronze statue complete with a piddly water feature just outside the oak doors.

The road Kageyama had inadvertently ruined (and wow did he make a _mess_ , he realises with a wince, taking in the torn up asphalt and chunks of concrete scattered down the full length of it) is _long_ , stretching down far until it ends at the winding mountain road leading away from the town. Far enough way that it wavers in a heat haze from the overhead sun.

Shops and other buildings flank the road, some open but most seem to be abandoned, with boarded up windows and broken, dirty signs. Almost every business still functioning is plastered with signs and billboards proclaiming that _Yes!_ _They are still open!_ and advertising sales, all in old-fashioned fonts that would be charming, if not for the wear and tear on all of them. There are tubes of neon everywhere – most all of them grey from dust and disuse. Kageyama can’t help but crinkle his nose, the whole place looks like a ghost town, and the ruined road is far from the only ugly thing about the place.

“Ready!”

A voice calls from above his head and Kageyama swivels his gaze back up at Bessie.

There’s a man, somehow missed from his first lookover of the horror machine, tinkering about in the cab at the top, poking at the controls. There’s a loud groan from the machine’s innards and then, with a shudder that shakes the ground beneath Kageyama’s feet, it groans to life, the engine ticking and spluttering as it starts up.

Kageyama struggles to hold back the expression of disgust that crumples his face as he looks in despair at the vile thing that he is expected to sit in for who knew how long, and finds himself longing desperately for his sleek, perfect and _clean_ race car, held in some godforsaken dusty compound somewhere in this country hell.

“All good to go Ukai!” The man calls from above, and Kageyama blinks. It was a surprisingly young voice, at odds from what he’d heard so far.

The man extracts himself fully from Bessie’s cab and before Kageyama can get a good look, he just jumps straight down, forgoing the ladder on the side of the machine completely to land with a neat crouch in front of them.

“Thanks Hinata,” Ukai says, and Kageyama gawps in confusion.

The man before him – Hinata – is short, dressed in a mechanic’s jumpsuit which is black with orange detailing and streaked with grease, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He has a wide, easy grin and freckles splashed across his cheeks and forearms, darkened from the desert sun, and the brightest, wildest mess of ginger hair that Kageyama has ever seen – a blaze of orange waves that catch the light. But the most striking thing about him is that he’s the first person Kageyama has seen who’s _young_.

Everyone so far has been much older, even the lawyer, which Kageyama kind of figured for a small country town in the middle of nowhere, and he’d expected the local handyman to be somewhere in his fifties. But here was a guy who was easily the same age as him – no older than his early twenties for sure, bright and lively.

“You must be the idiot that tore up the road!” Hinata says, far too cheerfully, and he takes out a rag that was tucked into one of his back pockets to wipe over his dirty hands.

“Yea- no, hang on, I’m not an idiot!” Kageyama starts to agree, then protests furiously. “I wouldn’t have hit anything at all if this stupid place had working _lights!_ ” And if the policeman’s patrol car wasn’t so old the constant backfiring didn’t scare him into thinking he was being shot at, he doesn’t add.

“You’ve never heard of headlights?” Hinata replies, seemingly unimpressed, stuffing his rag away to plant his hands on hips and quirking an eyebrow at him.

Kageyama splutters, but because _yes_ , of course he has, but his car doesn’t _have_ headlights because it is a _race car_.

“Alright, isn’t it time for Kageyama here to get started?” Ukai interrupts with a pointed look at both of them. “I think we all want this over and done with sooner rather than later.”

Kageyama curls his hands into fists and grinds his teeth together so tightly it’s a wonder he doesn’t crack a molar. This is ridiculous, he should be at the International Speedway right now, not in the middle of nowhere paving the road for some country town with hardly any residents. He wants to protest, have a shouting match with _somebody_ , but he knows it will do him no good. He’s _this_ close to a Dinoco sponsorship, he cannot afford for some tricksy lawyer to get him in any kind of legal trouble now.

“ _Fine_ ,” he snarls, because Ukai is right. The sooner he’s done the sooner he can get out of here. He stomps towards the ladder leading up Bessie and swings himself up, throwing himself into the cramped cab above with a furious huff.

Below, Ukai says a few words to Hinata that he can’t catch, drowned out by Bessie’s horrible sounding engine, then the mayor swings his gaze up to Kageyama. The man nods at him with a strange expression on his face and then turns on his heel, striding away back to the courthouse.

“Well then!” Hinata calls up, and then without warning scampers up the side of Bessie with alarming speed. He hangs off the side of the cab, peering through at Kageyama. “Let’s get you started.”

Kageyama listens, with great reluctance, as Hinata points to various controls. It seems simple enough – the burner at the back will melt the concrete and asphalt down into tarmac, and then he just has to keep a steady stream of it pouring onto the ground for the roller to squish into fresh road surface. “How long is this supposed to take?” Kageyama says sharply, cutting through Hinata’s tedious babbling about taking it nice and smooth, complete with stupid sound effects. He doesn’t want to take it nice and smooth, he wants to get to the end of the road ahead of him as fast as humanly possible.

“About five days, I’d say, if you do it right,” Hinata says, after a brief pause.

“Five _days?”_ Kageyama roars, outraged. At this rate, he’ll finish the day just before the big race, this is completely unacceptable.

“Yep,” Hinata replies, popping the ‘p’. He’s infuriatingly cheerful about it all. And then, alarmingly, he reaches in and starts plucking at Kageyama’s sleeve. “Speaking of, are you gonna be okay in this?”

Kageyama looks down at himself. Granted, wearing his racing suit was probably a bit weird, especially for a country boy like Hinata who had probably never seen one in his life, but at least it was comfortable. Besides, he had nothing else. “I’ll be fine,” he grunts, shaking his arm irritably to stop Hinata’s tugging. He’s not sure why the handyman is even asking, especially as he’s wearing a suit himself.

“You’re going to melt,” Hinata declares, in a serious tone, before it passes with a beat and he grins at Kageyama – so bright and blinding he almost has to squint against it. “Well best get started!” He says, warm brown eyes twinkling, and then abruptly lets go of the side of Bessie’s cab to drop back down to the ground. He’s surprisingly nimble, for someone so… stocky.

Kageyama glares furiously at the redhead as Hinata gives him a cheeky wave and saunters away with an infuriating “have fun!” sing-songed over his shoulder.

Snarling, Kageyama shoves Bessie into gear and punches at the controls that Hinata showed him to get started. This was not how this was supposed to go, but Kageyama is nothing if not determined, and if Hinata says it should take him five days, than Kageyama plans to do it in three.

The quicker he gets this done, the quicker he gets out of here and can put this whole nightmare behind him – his future is waiting, just around the corner.


	3. The Wager

Karasuno Springs is, in Kageyama’s humble opinion, a sinfully boring, unbearably hot, utterly dull _dustbowl._

It’s been… an indeterminate amount of hours since he’d first gotten into Bessie (and an indeterminate amount of hours minus five minutes since he’d stripped off the upper part of his race suit to just the lighter, cotton undershirt beneath. Hinata had been infuriatingly right when he’d said he’d melt.) And Kageyama has had far too much time already to study the town.

Bessie is painfully slow, and Kageyama doesn’t have to do much other than dutifully press the right buttons to keep the tarmac flowing and ensure the stupid machine didn’t go off course. It was mind numbingly boring, and Kageyama was already tempted to scream.

Karasuno Springs is a tiny town, with the houses scattered away from the centre and all of the action focused around the main thoroughfare. The headline is the courthouse, the grandest building, which sits at the top framed by the mountain ridges in the distance. The main road stretches down from there, wide and thick until it reaches the edge of the town, where it tapers off into the slimmer, winding road leading away back to civilisation.

Down each side of the main road are the establishments. Many of them are closed – the buildings abandoned and boarded up, the signs faded and the windows dirty. The ones still open are, from what Kageyama can tell, the bare necessities needed for anyone stopping for an overnight stay during a road trip.

There’s a tyre shop – _Casa Della Tires_ \- flamboyant and bright with an Italian flare to it, complete with a massive tower of tyres strung with fairylights. Kageyama had to begrudgingly admit it was sort of impressive, even if the tower leaned over at a disconcerting angle. It seemed to be run by the small man with wild hair, who darted in and out with dizzying energy. Kageyama had no idea where he was coming and going to, and could only guess he was socialising. There was certainly nothing else to be doing.

Directly opposite the tyre shop is what looks to be a body painting studio. For car bodies that is, not human ones. _Tanaka’s House of Body Art_ , the sign proclaims, under an extensive amount of neon tubing. There’s an array of hoods in the main window, sprayed in a… _fascinating_ array of styles. Very glittery. Very loud. The man who owns the shop certainly has skill, though Kageyama’s not sure he has taste. He eyes the Chevrolet Impala that sits outside the shop, painted in vivid purple with flames down the sides. He can respect the choice of a classic Chevy (he spares a quick, longing thought for his own Chevrolet, stuck at the impound), but not the colour.

Bessie belches behind him and he jumps in his seat as a small splatter of tar lands disconcertingly close to him on the side of the cab.

Kageyama stares at the glob of smouldering tar and grips Bessie’s controls tighter. Great. Now the machine he’s stuck in for the next few days is trying to burn him as well.

“Having fun up there?” A voice calls and he swivels his gaze down.

It’s the lawyer – whose name he cannot recall and does not care to – smiling up at him, full of smarm. He’s holding a paper bag (full of groceries from the store a few paces back presumably) and he gives Kageyama jaunty little wave before he continues down the street.

Kageyama’s answering retort is lost to another groan and belch from Bessie, the incinerator behind him shuddering loudly. He settles for glaring hotly, punching the control buttons on the dash viciously as he seethes, following the lawyer with his eyes as he wanders down the street into what appears to be a café-come-gas station. _The V8 Café._ Honestly. The only V8 in this town is under Kageyama’s hood.

When the man largely responsible for his current predicament disappears from view, Kageyama turns his attention back to the impossibly long stretch of road before him, cracked and old and undrivable, and the call of freedom beyond it.

Five days. He’s supposed to be here for _five days_ , and already he feels like he’s reached his limit.

He should be setting lap times around a race circuit right now. Chasing records. Perfecting his route. Using all and any opportunity to get himself in the best possible position to take home his Piston Cup and win the Dinoco sponsorship.

And here he is, laying down tarmac.

His fingers flex against the controls he’s holding as he considers. All he has to do is pave the road, right? Hinata showed him to do it properly, but… the other man clearly knew how to work the machine. Technically, _he_ could pave the road. All Kageyama has to do is finish the first job. If it’s exactly not to Hinata’s liking then so what? He can fix it himself. The agreement was to lay new paving, not make it pretty.

His mind set, Kageyama punches at the controls to get a new slew of tarmac slopping to the ground below and leans forward with a grunt, heaving at the control levers. Bessie moans and groans around him, but then, slowly, inch by inch, starts to move just a little bit faster, until she gains something resembling speed.

The noise and the heat are awful. Bessie is clearly not meant to be a machine that moves any faster than one mile an hour with fresh tarmac falling to the ground, but Kageyama weathers it. Sweat drips from his temple and his biceps bulge as he strains against the controls and forces the paving machine to move faster along the route.

By the time he reaches the end of the road (sign posted by “roadwork ahead” signs on either side that he can only presume Hinata had produced from somewhere) Kageyama is panting. He slouches back in his seat and blows his hair from his eyes, catching his breath. After a couple of minutes, he can’t stand the heat inside Bessie’s cab any longer and he leans out, clambering down the ladder on the side, and jumping to the ground with a grunt.

It’s only once he’s landed that he realises he’s gained a small crowd. Most of the townsfolk that were in the courthouse have gathered, scattered along the stretch of new road. One of them, the guy that owns the tyre shop, is tapping the new road with his shoe with a curious expression.

Well… maybe new ‘road’ was a bit of stretch. The tarmac, laid so hastily large pools of it were still wet, was uneven and lumpy the entire way from where Kageyama was standing to almost the court house. Not ideal for _his_ car to drive on, certainly, with its specialised chassis, but most of the townsfolk had older cars right? They should be fine.

“What _the hell_ is that?”

Kageyama jumps about two feet in the air and spins to find Ukai standing behind him, looking absolutely furious. “I… finished,” he offers, somewhat lamely. Somehow, he doesn’t think the mayor’s angry expression means he can leave as quickly as he thought.

“You’ve finished shit! That road isn’t driveable!” Ukai rages, gesticulating wildly at the mess behind them. “This is worse than it was before! And a complete waste of asphalt to boot!”

“But… you can drive on it now,” Kageyama points out, slightly confused. Yes, it’s bumpy and yes it’s certainly not pretty, but compared to the large gouge that was there before this is a definite improvement.

“I meant _before_ you tore it all up in the first place!” Ukai explodes and Kageyama takes a step back, eyes wide.

The commotion draws the rest of the townsfolk closer, hovering around the edges. To Kageyama’s surprise, they don’t really look as angry as Ukai – moreso a strange mix of annoyance and worry. It’s disconcerting, and he shuffles in place. Then he spots the lawyer lurking ominously right at the back of the crowd and groans. He just wants to _go._

“Look, I’m sorry,” he says, stepping back towards Ukai and holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m _sorry_ I tore up the road, it really was an accident. But I really, _really,_ have to go.”

Some of the anger drains from Ukai’s face and the man settles for a dark glower, folding his arms. “The road is not finished,” he says firmly.

“I’ll pay someone!” Kageyama offers, somewhat desperately. “I’ll pay that ginger guy, or whoever you want, I’ll make sure it’s fixed but I can’t be the one to stay here and fix it. _Please,_ it’s important.”

The mayor says nothing, and nor do any of the people watching them. Ukai unfolds his arms to plant his hands on his hips, sweeping his gaze up and down Kageyama, from head to toe, considering. Kageyama remembers how the man had recognised he was a racer and hopes, fervently, that he realised just _who_ he was and _what_ was coming up, and didn’t think he was just a run-of-the-mill guy who’d crashed into his town. Never before had Kageyama actually _hoped_ to be recognised, but it would certainly come in handy right now.

“Wow, you really can’t follow instructions, can you?” A new voice pipes up.

Kageyama grits his teeth as Hinata walks into his line of view, pushing his way gently through the crowd of townsfolk. The shorter man looks just as unimpressed as Ukai and he shoots a glare up at Kageyama. “What? Was it too complicated for you?”

Maybe it’s because the guy is the same age as him, in stark comparison to everyone else who’s significantly older, but Kageyama feels irritation boil up hot. “ _No_ ,” he hisses, indignant, and resists to urge to lean down into Hinata’s space. He tightens a hand into a fist and drags two sharp breaths through his nose to get a grip on his temper. “Look, you know how to pave the road, right? Can’t you just do it? I’ll-“

He doesn’t even get his offer of payment out before Hinata’s eyebrows are shooting up to his hairline.

“ _Excuse me? I_ didn’t tear it up in the first place!”

“It was an accident!” Kageyama shouts back, losing control of his voice in response to Hinata’s elevated volume. He’s getting really sick of repeating himself right now. “Look, it’s not as though you guys are… busy,” he says, trying to be tactful, and he swings an arm around the perfectly dead town. He’s pretty sure all of the residents are circled around them right now, and certainly not doing any work. “There’s plenty of time for _you_ to fix it, but _I_ actually have to be somewhere.”

“We had a deal,” Hinata points out, voice low and dangerous. The difference in him from earlier, all smiles and teasing, is striking. Now he’s glaring and furious and suddenly those large brown eyes seem sharp and vicious, rather than warm and welcoming. “You fix the road, we won’t seek any legal action.”

“Aren’t you listening?” Kageyama despairs. “Look. I have a race at the end of the week that I needed to be at the circuit for already hours ago and I can’t stick around here paving the road for a little country town!”

“A race huh?” Hinata says, musing. “But it’s not for a few days, and you’ll still be there in time if you actually pave the road properly. It’s called owning up to your mistakes, you know.”

“I’m offering another solution,” Kageyama hisses, starting to really feel the fray on his temper. “Look, I know it’s the main road here but it’s not as though there’s a bunch of people to use it _right now_ whether it’s like this,” he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, “or not. I promise I will ensure it gets fixed, but this race is actually important.”

“And our road _isn’t_ important?” Hinata challenges, raising an eyebrow at him.

Kageyama pauses. He knows that the road clearly is important to the people here, it’s the main one leading through the whole town, but also he feels he has a point – Karasuno Springs is a quiet, country town with little traffic, and the road could wait a week. Nobody would be any the wiser. But he feels saying this is just liable to get him punched in the face, judging by Hinata’s thunderous expression. So he settles for, “it’s an extremely important race.”

Hinata looks down at the ground with an aggrieved sigh, and kicks at a loose pebble. He stares downwards for a long length of time, and Kageyama just starts to get his hopes up that Hinata will see things his way when the shorter man lifts his head and Kageyama is faced with the full force of a golden eyed, fierce stare.

“Race me.”

It’s a demand Kageyama was not expecting, and he shivers, both from the force of the _look_ and the words themselves. “W-what?” He stutters.

“Race me,” Hinata repeats, throwing his arms out wide, a challenging stance. “There’s a little track not far from here. You and me, one lap. You win, I’ll pave the road, no questions asked. I won’t even ask for any money, and you can go on your merry way.”

“And if you win?” Kageyama asks, feeling a little smirk start to tick up at the corner of his mouth. Oh, the guy really has no idea who he is, does he?

“If I win, you stay and pave the road, like we agreed. Except this time you’ll do it properly.”

“Me and you?” Kageyama clarifies, flicking an index finger between them. “Have a race?”

“Is that a problem?” Hinata demands, voice oddly calm for such a furious face.

“Absolutely not,” Kageyama says, feeling his smirk spread wide as glee spreads through him. Sweet victory, he can smell it already. “Let’s race.”

* * *

Immediately after the gauntlet is thrown, a murmur goes up among the crowd.

“Hinata, are you sure about this?” Someone asks, a lady with blonde hair twisted up into a ponytail.

“You aren’t required to race him at all, you know,” says the lawyer, and there’s something resembling concern glinting behind those glasses.

“Why are you guys so worried?” The bald man asks the group, looking genuinely baffled. “Hinata can run circles around this guy!”

 _That_ gets Kageyama’s attention. Clearly the handyman is some sort of hobby racer, enough to impress the locals at least. Not that Kageyama’s threatened – he’s just probably the only one here brave enough to drive at a speed in the triple digits.

“That’s okay, right?” Hinata asks, directing his question at Ukai, ignoring the crowd.

The mayor sighs and rubs a hand through his bleached hair, looking distinctly unhappy but not quite as furious as before. “I suppose. You’re using Willy’s Butte?”

Hinata nods, and Kageyama frowns deeply, confused. Willy’s… _what?_

“Ha!” Ukai crows, a sudden sharp grin bursting over his face. “Sure, in that case, why not! Maybe it’ll calm down our jailbird here.”

Kageyama grumbles petulantly at that, but his complaints are overridden by Hinata spinning on his heel to face him again, grinning fierce and wicked. “Alright! Let’s get your car then, Lazyama. Actually… Nishinoya?”

“Yeah?” Pipes up a voice. It belongs to the small, wild haired man who Kageyama thinks owns the tyre shop.

“Can you meet us at the impound? Someone’s gotta take him to the track while I fetch my car,” Hinata requests, jabbing a thumb at Kageyama.

Nishinoya salutes and scampers off.

“Did you just call me lazy?” Kageyama demands, squinting at Hinata dangerously. He’s actually quite offended, he’s never been _lazy_ at anything in his whole life.

“Yeah because _that,”_ Hinata says, gesturing at the mess of uneven tarmac splattered across the road, “is laziness. Look don’t start,” he continues to Kageyama’s infuriated splutter. “Let’s just go. The impound’s that way.” He points off in a direction that’s towards the road that leads away from town, but opposite to the police station.

Kageyama wants to bite back, but the urge to finally see his car overrides and he starts trudging off in the direction Hinata indicated. It seems the rest of the townspeople trust the handyman, because all of them, Daichi and Ukai included, peel off in their own directions. Maybe they were bored now the argument had ended, or maybe they were heading to the place Hinata mentioned, Kageyama had no way of knowing.

Behind him, Hinata says something, low and urgent, to the bald man, too quietly for Kageyama to hear, before scampering up to join the racer once the bald man nods his understanding.

The walk to the impound isn’t long, about twenty minutes, but it’s excruciating.

Neither he nor Hinata say anything as they walk, and the silence between them is thick and stifling, almost as much as the mid-afternoon heat.

Kageyama takes the time to stare daggers into Hinata’s back as he walks two paces behind. The handyman has stripped down his suit, similar to Kageyama, rolling the top portion down and tying the sleeves around his waist, revealing a t-shirt underneath with a ridiculous cartoon picture of a meat on the bone on it, streaked with dirt and dust.

“Is this a private track, where we’re going?” He finally asks, unable to deal with the silence any longer, his curiosity winning out. He knows most of the tracks up and down the country and he can’t recall anything around here, his sense of direction notwithstanding. If it’s small and not open to the public it could be owned privately by a business – maybe Hinata had a membership or something.

“Sort of, but not like what you’re thinking,” Hinata replies evenly, “no tarmac.”

“No… wait, what?”

“It’s a dirt track,” Hinata says, and when he glances over his shoulder at Kageyama he laughs at his shocked expression. “What? You’ve never driven off road or something?”

“I have!” Kageyama protests, instantly. _About twelve hours ago…_ he doesn’t say.

His protests, and any further thoughts of racing on a dirt track, of all things, are temporarily wiped out once the impound comes into view.

It’s very… rudimentary. It consists of a small paddock hemmed in by a chain link fence, and the contents inside consist of a variety of old tyres, one engine, and Kageyama’s car right in the middle. His heart leaps when he lays eyes on his beloved Corvette – a welcome shot of blue in amongst all the brown. He can’t see any damage, but he did hit quite a few obstacles in his panic drive around town and his hands twitch and itch to examine the Stingray in more detail as Hinata unlocks the fence.

Striding forward as soon as the handyman gets the gate open, Kageyama hurries straight up to his car and runs his hands over the bodywork, checking for any scratches or worse, dents.

“It’s fine,” Hinata says, and when Kageyama flicks his irritable gaze up at him he’s surprised to see a reasonably warm expression on the redhead. “It had a couple of minor dents and scratches when we towed it back here but I buffed out them for you, and Tanaka resprayed anywhere the paint got scratched.”

Kageyama’s mind whites out a bit. “ _You_ buffed them out?” He demands. It’s not that he isn’t grateful, it’s just… he’s very particular about who he lets handle his car. A lot of the minor repair jobs and maintenance work he does himself, as his grandfather had showed him all those years ago, and for anything more major he checked out prospective workshops extensively.

“Yeah, I’m not just a pretty face you know,” Hinata replies with a cheeky wink and Kageyama splutters, flustered.

He has no idea why the handyman had taken it upon himself to fix the damage – but if he liked racing enough to challenge Kageyama to one, maybe he just wanted to handle a nice car? He knows he should say thank-you, especially as it looks like the redhead had actually done a reasonable job, but his throat sticks uncomfortably and he lowers his head instead to hide the embarrassing flush to his face, finishing his meticulous inspection. When he straightens, satisfied that his car is one piece and that maybe Hinata had done a pretty decent job with any repair work it needed, he finds the handyman spinning a set of keys around his finger. Kageyama’s keys.

“Do you just have the keys to everything?” Kageyama finally blurts out, baffled. He’s not entirely sure why the handyman has the keys to the impound and _his car_ , all of things.

Hinata snorts. “Daichi tossed them to me just before we left. He’s the one in the habit of keeping them all on his belt like an old jailer, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

The keys shine in the light as Hinata tosses them to him, and Kageyama catches them deftly out of the air one-handed. He’s just unlocking his driver’s door when he stops and gives Hinata a suspicious squint. “What’s stopping me from just driving out of here?” He asks. He doesn’t think the handyman is brave enough or stupid enough to use himself as a human shield, so right now there really is nothing stopping him just leaving. Not even Daichi would be able to catch up in his ancient police car by the time Hinata went for help.

Hinata raises an eyebrow. “I siphoned off your gas,” he says, mischievously. “You have just enough in there to keep your engine happy and get a short distance. If you leave now you’ll just end up breaking down halfway between here and highway, right in the middle of the desert. Be my guest, if you want.” He steps to the side and jabs and a thumb over his shoulder at the open gate.

Kageyama frowns and jams his keys into the ignition, frowning harder when, indeed, the fuel warning light blinks on. “Fair enough,” he grumbles, unsure whether to be annoyed or impressed Hinata had the foresight to do that.

Before the handyman can reply, there’s a rumble of another engine, and then a small, pale yellow Fiat 500 bumbles its way towards them, and Nishinoya sticks his head out his window with a cheerful grin. Kageyama can just about see a chequered flag, complete with pole, sitting in the passenger seat and, bizarrely, a collection of Italian flags laid out on the back seats.

“Ready Shouyou!”

“Okay, follow Nishinoya,” Hinata instructs him, already starting to walk out of the compound. “He’ll take you to Willy’s Butte and I’ll meet you there.”

“Isn't anyone going to tell me what a beyoot is?” Kageyama wonders bitterly as he climbs into his car and starts the engine fully, feeling a small bloom of comfort at the familiar roar of his engine as he slowly follows Nishinoya’s tiny Fiat across the desert.

Willy’s Butte turns out to, indeed, be a small, rudimentary dirt track a short distance away from Karasuno Springs. There’s a huge rock formation in the middle, which Kageyama vaguely remembers being able to see from the town, and surrounding it is a course approximately the size of a standard racing track – albeit made of compounded dirt rather than asphalt. The middle of the circuit, where the pits and the paddock would be for any normal track, is made of the same rough, uneven terrain that they’d traversed to get here. And at one end of the track, by what would be turns one and two, is a huge slope. Made of solid and dry rock, almost as tall as a miniature mountain, the surface is smooth enough that it probably would be possible to drive across - if you had enough speed going up to it to slingshot yourself around.

The whole track is set at a lower level than from where they approached, as if it was in a huge dust bowl. The side they arrive at seems to be the only safe way to get down to it – the slope down soft and gentle, compared to the hard wave at one end of the track, and the other side directly opposite them being full of banks and rises of loose dirt and wild plants, far too uneven to drive across.

“Go wait there!” Nishinoya shouts at him over the sound of his engine, pointing down at a place at the track where somebody has drawn a thick line into the dirt. “That’s the start line!”

Kageyama nods and lets his car roll gently down the slope. Going off road really isn’t his thing, and he’s never raced at speed on anything that isn’t tarmac, but he figures it can’t be all that difficult. And for his early freedom, he’s certainly willing to prove himself.

In his mirrors, he can just about see a collection of other cars – mostly classic – rolling up to meet them. They all stop next to Nishinoya’s Fiat though and he figures they must belong to the townspeople who were curious enough to come and watch. He can see Daichi’s police car lingering near the back of the pack. None of them look like they might belong to Hinata, as certainly none of them are race worthy and he shrugs, continuing his descent to the starting line.

His competition will be here soon enough.

* * *

Kageyama sits where Nishinoya told him to wait, and taps his fingers against his steering wheel in agitation. Part of him is thrilled to be behind the wheel of his own car again, feel it hum beneath him, the noise of the engine as he taps his foot against the accelerator. The other part of him is antsy. He just wants Hinata to turn up in whatever run-of-the-mill car he thinks could possibly take on his precision piece of machinery, run a lap around this rudimentary ‘track’ and zip out of here.

He’s just about to poke his head out of his window to ask Nishinoya what was taking him so long anyway, when a murmur goes up amongst the crowd up on the bank and then he hears it.

The low, devastating rumble of a powerful engine.

Kageyama twists in his seat so he can look out of his driver’s window properly, and feel his jaw drop when he sees just what the townspeople are grinning at, at what’s rolling towards them.

It’s a _Porsche._

And not just any Porsche – it’s a _good_ one. A Cayman, he thinks, but he’s not close enough to tell. It’s an obnoxiously bright yellow, the bodywork gleaming under the overhead sun. It’s smaller than Kageyama’s Corvette, but the engine is just as noisy, and Kageyama gapes as the, quite honestly, _beautiful_ car slips down the bank and pulls up next to him on the start line.

That is not the car of a handyman who lives in the country.

One of the windows rolls down, revealing Hinata in the driving seat, and who has had the audacity to pop on a pair of sunglasses in the interim.

The redhead flicks them up to his forehead with one finger and smirks at Kageyama. “Any second thoughts?”

He was actually being serious, Kageyama thinks deliriously. This man has a car that can _race_ – and he has every intention of beating Kageyama into the literal dirt with it.

Unbidden, Kageyama feels a smirk of own spread across his face in response. The threat of a challenge – an actual _challenge_ , out here in the middle of nowhere, no less, lights up his blood and sends his nerves singing. He was looking forward to winning, he always is, but to win against someone who’s actually brought a decent car is even better. “I hope you’re prepared to lose on home turf.”

Hinata laughs, and lets his sunglasses drop back into place. He swivels in his seat until he’s facing forwards again, one hand on the steering wheel, the other presumably on his gear stick.

Kageyama follows suit, getting himself into position, settling himself into his seat and training his eyes on Nishinoya, who’s produced his large chequered flag and is holding it up proudly.

“The race will be one lap around Willy’s Butte! The first one to cross the starting line again wins, and the loser has to repave the road.” Nishinoya lifts his flag. “Driver’s ready? Three!”

Kageyama taps his foot against the accelerator again, and the Stringray roars.

“Two!”

The Porsche next him growls in response.

“One!”

Kageyama's knee twitches as he teeters his feet on the pedals. Drags his fingers across the gear stick knob and the leather of his steering wheel. Licks his lips.

_“Go!”_

The Corvette launches forward just as the flag is swung down, with a deafening roar and sending up a cloud of red dust. For a moment, the lack of visibility is startling, but then it quickly clears, the speed of the Corvette outstripping the speed at which the dust could be blown across his windscreen. The first corner looms close, and Kageyama smirks, not looking for Hinata because he doesn’t need to – he already knows the perfect line to take.

Several meters back, as the Corvette streaks around the first two corners in a devastating bolt of gleaming blue, the Porsche sits idly on the starting line.

“Uhh… Shouyou?” Nishinoya calls, concerned. “The flag means go, buddy!”

Hinata turns his steering wheel until his tyres are facing away from the starting straight. “Hey, Tanaka!” He yells, rolling down his passenger window and directing his voice at the bald man. “You brought the tow truck like I asked right?”

“I did,” Tanaka confirms loudly from his place up on the bank, looking just as confused as the rest of the townsfolk, most of whom are watching Kageyama as he bolts down the second straight like a demon. There’s no way Hinata could possibly catch up now.

“Get it started up, we’re going fishing!” Hinata calls, and, inexplicably, starts driving towards the middle of the track, cutting across the wilder, rougher part in the middle and heading straight for the third corner.

“Guess he has a plan,” a grey haired man says, brown eyes twinkling as he smiles with amusement.

Tanaka shrugs and hops into the rusting tow truck with a bewildered look on his face. “At least someone does. Wish he’d explain himself first though,” he mutters as he starts the truck and begins rolling after Hinata’s Porsche.

Kageyama grips his steering wheel tight as the third corner looms. He hasn’t spotted the tell-tale yellow of Hinata’s Porsche yet, so he must be in the lead. His smirk widens into a fierce grin – the other man may have a good car, but clearly Kageyama was the better racer.

The corner edges closer, and Kageyama wrenches his wheel and stamps on his brake, beginning his turn like clockwork, the same as he’d done hundreds of times in the past.

Except… not.

Instead of whipping around the bend like normal, the Stingray’s tyres shriek as they drag uselessly over the dirt. The Corvette’s body fishtails under the sudden lack of grip and Kageyama’s eyes widen in brief terror as his car is wrenched completely out of his control. The engine roars but nothing happens, and his car is sent sliding across the dirt, unstoppable and completely at nature’s mercy.

Kageyama yells, loud and shocked, as his car suddenly tips, until it’s sliding sideways down another dirt bank. Red dust clouds and dirt and tiny pebbles are thrown into the air, completely blocking Kageyama’s vision as his car slips down further and further.

Eventually the car crunches to a halt, snared in place by something sticking fast to the tyres. Kageyama reopens his eyes that he’d unknowingly clamped shut, and is mildly relieved to find that at least he hasn’t slammed into a mountain wall or something.

Panting, and then coughing once dust flows into his lungs, he waves at the air in front of him irritably until the cloud clears enough for him to see. Eyes watering, he looks around.

His Corvette had slipped from the track, down another dirt bank, until it seems the build-up of loose dirt and a disconcerting amount of wild cacti had clumped around his tyres, bringing his car to a sudden halt. The whole vehicle sits at an angle, and Kageyama stares down at himself with trepidation. He undoes his seatbelt gingerly, and grunts when he’s immediately released from his seat to clunk against his driver’s door. It’s not so steep of angle he can’t clamber out the passenger door, which is something at least, because he certainly can’t drive his way out with his tyres stuck fast like this.

Hand curling into a fist, he slams it against his dashboard in a sudden burst of frustrated fury.

He’s a professional racing driver, and he’d missed a turn? He’s _never_ missed a turn. Never ended up in any tyre walls or any barriers on any circuit he’s ever raced on and yet here is, with his car beached down a dirt bank with cacti poking in through the windows.

Infuriated and humiliated, he clambers over the centre console and fumbles for the passenger door handle, kicking the door open with a grunt. The movement sends up another cloud of dust and he chokes, spluttering as he climbs out of his car.

“Careful, those cacti are surprisingly sharp!”

Kageyama grits his teeth as Hinata’s voice sing-songs its way down to him. Hands still gripped around his car’s doorframe, he hovers, half in and half out, as he glares furiously up at the other man.

Hinata is standing at the top of the bank, a few feet from the apex of corner three, with his hands on his hips and his sunglasses on his forehead and looking incredibly smug. Kageyama can just about see the yellow gleam of his car idling behind him and… a tow truck?

His glare dims a little as confusion momentarily grips him. The tow truck is old and almost entirely rusted over, and is trundling slowly towards the edge of the bank. Now it’s closer he can see the bald man that Hinata was talking to earlier sitting in it and suddenly, realisation coalesces all at once.

Hinata _knew_ this would happen.

He asked for the tow truck to be brought here because he knew damn well that Kageyama was always going to end up down a dirt bank. The audacity of it sends Kageyama’s blood straight up to boiling point – he’d been looking forward to an honest race, and he’d been set up for a _rigged one_ this whole time?

“ _What the hell!_ You too frightened to race properly or something? Are you _that_ desperate to make me fix a damn road you’ll set up a rigged race?” Kageyama rages as he finally extracts himself from his car and starts stomping up the bank. The incline is steep enough that his pace is slow, but not enough that it’s too hard to traverse.

The smug look on Hinata’s face is wiped immediately, replaced with something resembling that cold fury from earlier. “Rigged?” He repeats, just as loud. “Nah, I just had a funny feeling that you wouldn’t be able to handle a dirt track.”

Kageyama stops halfway up the dirt bank to gape. “Can’t handle it?”

“Your turns were lousy,” Hinata says simply. “You’re really fast but your turns don’t stick right.”

“Who the hell are you to judge me on that?”

“Well you tackled turns one and two all wrong, for starters,” Hinata replies. “It’s no wonder you spun off here. You might be able to get away with that technique on asphalt, but on dirt tracks? You need to be able to handle the turns properly, or you’ll just end up with the tulips.”

“ _There aren’t even any tulips here!”_ Kageyama seethes, gesturing at the mess of loose dirt and squashed cacti. He’s so angry at the implication that he can’t turn, by this… _country bumpkin_ , that he can’t help but take it out on how Hinata can’t even point out the right fucking plants he’s stuck in.

Hinata watches him for a second or two more, before he sighs. “I’ll go get what you need to scrape off that mess of tarmac you called a road ready. Have fun fishing, Tanaka.”

And with that, he turns on his heel and walks back to his Porsche.

Kageyama gawps as the yellow car streaks away into a cloud of red dust before he starts muttering furiously to himself and strides up the rest of the bank. “ _I_ can’t turn? I plan every circuit with precision and I’ve never missed a turning ever and _he_ has the audacity to say _I_ can’t turn? Who does he think he is?”

“The local dirt track champion,” Tanaka pipes up from his spot in the tow truck. He looks up from the controls to grin at Kageyama. “He doesn’t look it, but Hinata’s a demon on the tracks around here. I was kind of disappointed he didn’t move from the start line to be honest, I was looking forward to watching him sail around you.”

Kageyama doesn’t know what part of that sentence is worse – that Hinata was allegedly some sort of racing champion, or that he didn’t even _start._ He settles for crunching a cacti under his boot in lieu of giving Tanaka a response.

“If you ask him when he’s cooled down he’ll show you how to make the turn if you want,” Tanaka says, clearly unbothered by Kageyama’s enraged aura. “He’s just pissed you made a mess of the road and then thought he should do it for you. He’ll probably calm down later when you’re back at it.”

Kageyama folds his arms and glowers as the hook of the tow truck loops around his car’s rear bumper with a muffled clang. “I don’t need _him_ to show _me_ how to turn,” he grumbles.

“Whatever you say,” Tanaka chuckles, settling back as the truck starts to winch the Corvette back up the bank. Clearly the cable is strong enough, despite the truck’s frankly incredible amount of rust. “I gotta say though, your car bruh? It’s beautiful.”

“… Thank-you,” Kageyama replies, suddenly thrown by the compliment (and being called ‘bruh’.)

“Gorgeous colour,” Tanaka continues. “You ever think about making it sparkle more though? Like metallic?”

“Not really…” Kageyama says slowly backing up as Tanaka throws the truck into reverse and rolls back with a squeak of tyres. The tow cable’s winch groans, but the Corvette is pulled over the lip of the dirt bank just fine, and Tanaka reverses the tow truck further to pull it fully back onto the dirt track.

“There we are!” Tanaka cheers as he winds up the cable and hops down from the truck, joining Kageyama as he inspects his car for damage. “Looks alright! Just dirty.”

Kageyama grunts his agreement – his Stingway is now more beige than it is blue, and there is far too much vegetation clinging to his wheels and his radiators, but at least there aren’t any dents or scratches.

“Well I have the paint made up for it already if it was scratched,” Tanaka says, “but I think it just needs a good wash.”

“You repainted it?” Kageyama asks, suddenly intrigued. He vaguely remembers Hinata saying he’d buffed out the minor dents and scratches with the help of one of the townsfolk earlier…

“Yup! I own the body painting shop!” Tanaka says proudly with a grin. “Tanaka’s House of Body Art! You stop by if you ever get sick of blue or those race stickers, okay? We’ll make this baby shine!” And with that, he claps Kageyama on the back and climbs back into the tow truck, shunting it into gear and trundling away back towards town.

Kageyama blinks after him, blindsided by this unexpected display of kindness. Technically, he’s a criminal to this town, but so far he’s had minor repairs down to his car – for free no less – and engaged in a perfectly friendly conversation with one of the locals. If Tanaka had been angry at him before, he certainly wasn’t anymore, and something strange curls up tight in Kageyama’s belly as he squirms, suddenly ashamed. He’d hadn’t even said thank-you for the repairs, not to Tanaka or to Hinata.

The thought of the handyman sends his mood immediately sour again. Free repairs notwithstanding, he’s still absolutely furious the other man had set him up like this. He turns back to his car to get into it, fuming silently, when it occurs to him that the tow truck is steadily becoming a mere rusty dot in the distance.

He swears and leaps into driving seat to follow Tanaka, because if he dawdles here any longer he won’t be able to find his way back to Karasuno Springs.

* * *

Kageyama returns back into town with his tail between his legs.

Having regretfully dropped his car back at the impound under Daichi’s watchful eye, he now stands at the other end of the main road, opposite to where he started. But this time, with an entirely different job.

Hinata had provided some sort of… Kageyama can only describe it as a tractor, with a low slung scoop attached the front. It looks almost home-made, like Hinata and just bashed something together, stuck it on the front of the tractor and called it a day. Kageyama presumes it’s for scraping off the uneven tarmac, though the handyman is nowhere in sight to ask.

With a resigned sigh, he moves to climb into the tractor. This is simple enough he doesn’t need instruction, he supposes. Just drive this thing forwards until all the road surface is gone again. Might as well get started now, or he’ll be here even longer than Hinata’s original five day estimate.

“Hey! Kageyama!”

“What now…” Kageyama groans, hovering at the entrance to the tractor cab, before turning around wearily.

It’s not a voice or face he recognises – belonging to one of the townsfolk he’s not spoken to yet. Another older man, about Daichi’s age he guesses, with grey hair and a mischievous sort of expression.

“I’m Sugawara,” the man introduces himself, holding out a hand for Kageyama to shake. “I own The V8 Café.”

“Nice to meet you…?” Kageyama replies, confused but taking the other man’s hand anyway for a brief shake.

“Look, I know you want to get started as soon as possible so you can leave, but when was the last time you ate? Or drunk, for that matter?”

Kageyama blinks, surprised. And now that it’s been pointed out to him, he’s suddenly excruciatingly aware that he is _starving_. He hasn’t eaten since the last rest stop with Takinoue, which was almost an entire day ago, and the last thing he’d drunk was the glass of water at Daichi’s station. Suddenly the headache he’d put down to stress thuds even louder behind his temples and he bites at his lip. “Not for a while,” he says, at last.

“I thought so. Look, it gets hot out here, and if you sit in a vehicle all day long in this sun you’re just gonna get heatstroke, especially if you haven’t been eating or drinking. So, why don’t you take a quick break for a bite to eat?” Sugawara suggests. And the most surprising part of it all is that the other man isn’t even phrasing it like a sales pitch for his café – he really does seem concerned, with a crinkle of worry around his brown eyes.

“But I don’t have any money on me,” Kageyama says, which is his first and immediate thought. He’s already in these peoples’ bad books enough as it is, he doesn’t want to anything worse by letting them think he’s stealing from them too. He’s twitchy enough thinking about the work that was done to his car for free.

“You really are an odd one,” Sugawara says, after a beat, and he shoots him a smile. “How about this? I can write you an invoice if you like, for all the food and drink you have here. You can pay me afterwards.”

Kageyama brightens. “If you address it to my agent, he can pay you as soon as I get to the racetrack,” he promises. It should be fairly easy to forward the copy across, especially with Shimada’s help. His agent was a seedy salesman sometimes, but he was very prompt, and Kageyama didn’t like the thought of owing money longer than he absolutely needed to.

“Agent huh?” Sugawara grins. “Fancy! But yeah, sure, no problem. Now come with me.”

 _The V8 Café_ is probably the largest business in Karasuno Springs, complete with its own gas station and car wash.

(“Yes, you can use it. Don’t worry, I won’t charge you, everyone uses it for free anyway because cars get so dusty so quickly around here,” Sugawara had said when he caught Kageyama eyeing it hopefully.)

The inside is retro, but charming, Kageyama supposes. Timeless, like a snapshot of a restaurant from several decades ago. It’s cool inside, the air conditioning humming gently, and there’s a main bar at the far end, with stools around its edge and booths taking up the remaining floor space. The entire thing is done up in soft mint green and pale pinks, both of which were colours Kageyama wouldn’t normally claim to like, but here they seem almost soothing.

“Take a seat. What do you fancy?” Sugawara asks, gesturing to one of the barstools and stepping towards a door next to the side of the bar – the door to the kitchen, Kageyama guesses.

“Anything,” Kageyama answers honestly. He’s never been a fussy eater, and Sugawara chuckles before disappearing into the kitchen.

He returns shortly with a generous sandwich, with thick bread and stuffed with fillings, a couple of bags of savoury snacks, and a banana. He slides them across the counter towards Kageyama, who reaches for them enthusiastically, murmuring his thanks as he picks up one half of the sandwich to bite into it with a groan of relief.

Sugawara joins him in the seat next to him with a glass of ice water for them both. He waits until Kageyama has demolished his sandwich before asking, “Are you still sore about losing the race?”

Kageyama chokes on his banana.

“Sorry, sorry!” Sugawara apologises, thumping Kageyama on the back. “You were just frowning so hard, it got me wondering.”

Kageyama fiddles with one end of the banana peel as he swallows down some of his ice water slowly to soothe his irritated throat. He can’t think of a way of saying _'it was just his face'_ without sounding terribly inept, so he settles for the truth of the matter: “I’m more annoyed I was tricked.”

“Were you though?” Sugawara asks, and Kageyama glowers at the twinkle in the older man’s eye. “Hinata had no way of knowing if you had raced off road before. If you had and knew how to handle that turn right _he_ would’ve looked the fool sitting there at the start line while you whipped around it.”

“He should’ve raced me fairly,” Kageyama grumbles, digging his fingernail into the grooves of the bar’s wooden surface petulantly. It still would’ve been infuriating, but he thinks if Hinata had actually taken the lap as well would’ve made the whole experience sting less.

“Perhaps. But if you want a real rematch, he can teach you how to make those turns if you want. Might not seem like it now, but he’d be happy to-“

“I don’t need him to teach me how to turn,” Kageyama interrupts, suddenly inexplicably annoyed that a second person in as many hours was telling him this.

Sugawara watches him quietly as he drains his water before he stands and collects the empty glasses and Kageyama’s plate. “You know, I think you two got off on the wrong foot,” he says and Kageyama raises his eyes from the bar counter to look at him warily. “Hinata… gets sensitive about certain things, sometimes, and he can lose his temper. But he never holds a grudge, and he’ll probably have swept the whole thing under the carpet by tomorrow.”

Kageyama doesn’t say anything, not entirely sure why the other man felt the need to tell him this.

“Look, I know you’re technically only here for punishment, but you’re not in prison. You’ve got a week before that race of yours right? It’d be a shame if you spent the entire time you were here only sitting in Bessie staring at nothing but melted tarmac all day. Hinata loves racing. It might be not the racing _you’re_ used to, but he loves it and he’s _good_ at it. All I’m saying is, you should talk to him about it.” A sudden grin bursts over Sugawara’s face. “Try not to piss him off for five minutes and he’ll more than happy to show you how to drift. Might as well have some fun while you’re here, right?”

Kageyama fidgets in his seat, before slipping off his stool and nodding his head towards Sugawara. “Thank-you for the food,” he says, before turning to head for the door.

“You’re welcome. Think about it, okay?” Sugawara calls after him but Kageyama doesn’t reply as he pushes through the café doors.

The sun is still high in the sky as he leaves, and he immediately grimaces at the sharp upturn in temperature. Stomping his way across the street to the modified tractor, a flash of orange catches his eye, just as he’s climbing into the tractor cab.

It’s Hinata, across the way close to the motel (Kageyama figures it’s a motel from the sign – _Cosy Cone Motel_ , but the point of the large traffic cones are still baffling to him), and the handyman is facing away from him, apparently setting to work fixing a fence.

One of the fences he’d smashed through the night before, probably, and Kageyama winces.

Starting up the tractor, he watches Hinata out of the corner of his eye, and considers.

He’d figured the other man a strange fit for the town when he’d first met him – young and lively in a town full of older folk living in the hope of tourists that never came? That was odd for starters, but now the picture was even more abstract. The car, the dirt tracks, the _racing…_

What was a guy like Hinata doing out in the country?

Kageyama may have no intention of asking the redhead to teach him how to turn on dirt, but if there was one thing he was going to do as he fixed this road, it was to find out the answer to that question.


	4. Pinstripe Tattoo

“Rise and shine!”

Kageyama awakes to an annoyingly chipper greeting and the hard surface of the Karasuno Springs police station floor.

“You know, no-one said you had to sleep in the cell,” Hinata says from behind the barred wall.

Kageyama groans into the flooring and rolls himself slowly up onto his feet, glaring at the prison bunk beside him and blaming it fully for having no rails on the side. Obviously that was the only reason he’d fallen off of it in his panic at the sudden sunshine morning greeting. “Where else was I supposed to go?” He grunts at the handyman, who can only be here to bother him, and the thought sours his already freshly awoken, grumpy mood.

“We have a motel?” Hinata replies, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t Daichi say?”

“Maybe?” Kageyama mumbles into his palms as his rubs sleepily at his face.

He’d managed to scrape off all of the hastily laden tarmac last night, and after another frankly delicious meal from The V8 Café he’d resumed paving the road. Properly this time. Until Bessie had shuddered and spluttered and stopped in her tracks, her stores of asphalt gone.

With night falling and nowhere else to go, Kageyama had sloped back to the police station, only to find Daichi just starting to lock up.

“Can I help you?” The policeman had asked as Kageyama trudged by him into the station’s reception.

“Going to sleep,” Kageyama had grunted over his shoulder. He felt gross and could do with a shower, but he was also too exhausted from the longest day of his _life_ to care and he just wanted to just conk out into unconsciousness more than anything else at that moment.

“Here?”

“Isn’t this where I’m supposed to be?” Kageyama had grumbled back. He was a prisoner here, no matter how the townsfolk tried to phrase it otherwise, so it made sense that he should be at the station when he wasn’t serving his punishment, right?

“Well, we do have a-“

“Goodnight,” Kageyama had interrupted shortly as he made his way down the hallway to the cell. He’d already had at least two sales spiels from Nishinoya for new tyres while he was paving, he was not in the mood to hear another Karasuno Springs special. The policeman seemed to get the hint, and after a halting goodnight in response, Kageyama was left alone.

Kageyama blinks into present to find Hinata still standing the entrance to the cell, looking at him with a bemused look on his face. At least the cell wasn’t locked. It made Kageyama feel a little less like he was trapped here, even though he had no way of escaping with his car locked away.

“What are you doing here?” He finally settles on asking, now the residues of sleep were starting to fall away. He and the handyman hadn’t exactly parted on great terms yesterday and hadn’t spoken at all while Kageyama got on with his task and Hinata bustled around town doing… whatever it was, that handymen did. Despite Tanaka and Sugawara’s words, Kageyama felt no urge to bridge the gap. He just wanted to get the road done.

“You’re out of asphalt, right?” Hinata replies, and a little of the cheer to his face falls away slightly at Kageyama’s tone. “I need to refill Bessie, but we’re out of asphalt in like, general, so I need to go get more.”

“Okay… and that involves me, why?”

Brown eyes squint at him. “What were you gonna do while I went to go get some? Stand around by Bessie like a useless statue?”

“… Oh,” Kageyama says, realising. He’d could go get breakfast, he supposes. Maybe look into the motel that was mentioned, and see if they were happy to invoice him too so he could actually sleep in a proper bed for the first time in days.

“Anyway,” Hinata sighs, “the place where I need to get asphalt from is quite a drive from here, so it’ll be a couple of hours before I can get Bessie refilled. Thought I should let you know.”

“Right,” Kageyama scowls. Of course it was quite a drive. _Everywhere_ was quite a drive from here, they were in the middle of nowhere. It frustrates him deeply that it means he can’t get an early morning start on today’s paving, but he supposes he can fill it with what he’s been neglecting. A good breakfast, somewhere more… _suitable_ to sleep, and a shower. He’s starting to smell sour to even his own nose.

“There’s a shower at the precinct here if you want to use it for now. We don’t exactly get many criminals here, but it works fine,” Hinata says, as though plucking the thought straight from Kageyama’s mind. Or maybe he had read the scrunched up nose on his face and assumed.

Kageyama scowls harder at the implication that _he’s_ a criminal but doesn’t bite. It’s too early and he can’t be bothered for another argument right now. He grunts his acknowledgement and hovers in the cell, waiting anxiously for the redhead to just go now he’d passed his message on. He’s grumpy and hungry and he stinks and he just wants to get on with freshening up so he can start the day, not be goaded by whatever irritating new thought has popped into the handyman’s brain.

“Also… I brought you these,” Hinata says, instead of leaving, and thrusts out a bag at him.

Kageyama squints at him suspiciously.

“They’re _clothes,_ not a bomb.”

“… Oh,” Kageyama says, surprised, and he reaches out for the bag. He hadn’t really given it much thought until now, but now he is thinking about it, wearing the same clothing he’d turned up in for an entire week sounded absolutely disgusting. “Are these… yours?” He asks, still somewhat suspicious. Hinata may be broad in the shoulder, but he’s still at least half a foot shorter, and Kageyama doesn’t fancy having his ankles burned to a crisp by the sun because his loaned trousers were several inches too short.

“You should be so lucky,” Hinata grumbles back. “They’re from the town’s souvenir shop, actually. I guessed your size, but if they don’t fit we literally have hundreds of each thing so go nuts if you want to swap.”

“This town has a souvenir shop?”

Hinata shrugs, not taking offence to this comment at all. Judging by his expression, it seems even he finds this as odd as Kageyama does. “Been here longer than anything else I think. Mayor Ukai’s grandpa runs it and he’s literally ancient. Nice guy, bit strange though.”

“… Right,” Kageyama says slowly, and he takes a brief peek in the bag. The clothing is folded, so he can’t see them well, but they look to be several white t-shirts with some slogans on and a pair of jeans. Not what he normally prefers to wear in his free time but clothes are clothes, he supposes. Plus they’re clean and it was nice of Hinata to think of it, even he has to admit. “Thank-you.”

A flash of surprise blinks across Hinata’s face for an instant, before a sunny, almost mischievous grin replaces it. “You’re welcome. I’ll come find you when I’ve got Bessie up and running, okay?” And with that, he gives Kageyama a small wave before turning tail and heading back up the corridor to exit the station.

Kageyama watches him leave for a moment or two, before yawning wide, jaw cracking. With a groan, he reaches up with his free hand to massage at his temples. A part of him had been hoping, as he’d flopped onto the cell’s bunk last night and let himself drift off, that when he woke up the following morning the whole experience would’ve ended up being a terrible nightmare. That he would find himself in Takinoue’s truck, having never taken his car out of the trailer in the first place.

The souvenir shop’s bag handles crinkle in his grasp. Well, so much for that.

He allows himself another minute to wallow, before the smell of himself is finally too poignant to ignore, and he wanders out from the cell. There’s only two ways to go once out, either down the hall to the reception area, or to the side where there’s two other small rooms. A quick peek in both reveals one to be a room set up as what should probably be an interview room, but looks more like it’s used for storage instead, and a small shower room.

At least the shower stall works, as promised, even if the water doesn’t quite get up the temperature he prefers. The only other things in the room are one lone towel and a half empty bottle of body wash/shampoo mix. The absolute bare basics, but Kageyama supposes it’ll have to do. At least he’ll be clean.

Finally refreshed and feeling a bit more like his usual self, Kageyama hangs up the one towel and runs his fingers through his damp hair in attempt to comb out any tangles with his fingers. He supposes he’s lucky to have the hair texture he does, which sits flat and silky naturally, and while he’ll probably have a cowlick or three without a proper comb to hand, at least he’ll look fairly presentable. Hinata would’ve probably looked like even more of a bush than he did already if he was in this situation with those curls.

The sudden thought of the handyman immediately sends him scowling again and he kicks irritably at the stinking pile of his race suit and under garments, sending them skidding across the floor.

Still… he had brought him clothes, so he should be grateful for that at least. He doesn’t think even turning his race suit inside out would help with the smell at this point.

He rummages through the bag he had been given, and immediately all thoughts of gratitude are quickly wiped away.

One on hand, he couldn’t exactly wander around naked. But on the other, he isn’t sure the bright, cheesy slogans plastered over every item of clothing made wearing his new outfit much better.

He grabs the least offensive t-shirt of the bunch and yanks it over his head with a grumble. It’s white, with a picture of a cartoon crow paddling about in what he supposes is supposed to be a spring. There’s a little speech bubble pointing out of its beak with “Karasuno Springs!” written in neon pink glitter writing. There’s more writing on the back, still glittery, but this time in a lurid green that says “A Happy Place!”

“A happy place my foot,” Kageyama mutters savagely under his breath, yanking on the only pair of jeans. They fit okay – a lot looser than he normally wears, saggy around the knees and around his hips, but they don’t fall down and are okay in the leg once he rolls the cuffs up a bit. They wouldn’t be too bad at all, if it wasn’t for the holes the in knees that are apparently part of the design and the random patches of various road signs stitched to the back pockets and down the thighs. They were gaudy and horrible and Kageyama is already predicting his knees to be burnt by the end of the day.

He looks down at himself, thinks of the cheeky grin the handyman had sported when he left, and thinks vividly of throwing his putrid race suit into the other man’s face when he saw him next.

Hinata had at least provided socks and underwear that were somewhat acceptable. They were also themed with road signs, but were much tamer and more importantly, out of sight, so the handyman was actually good for something, it seemed.

Pulling on his race boots and stuffing his old clothes into the bag with the rest of the t-shirts Hinata had picked out, Kageyama stares down at himself. He looks terrible, but at least everything pretty much fits. He supposes he shouldn’t be too ungrateful if he’s not paying for them, but really he does look utterly ridiculous. With a sigh, he tosses the bag into the storeroom-come-interview-room on his way past, intending to pick it up later, and heads for the reception area.

Daichi is already behind his desk, lounging back in his chair and reading what appears to be a local newspaper. Where he gets that from considering their distance from anywhere, Kageyama has no idea.

“Good morning,” Daichi says from over his broadsheet once he notices Kageyama’s presence. He mercifully doesn’t say anything about his new clothes, though his polite smile does stretch a little wider when he notices his t-shirt. “I take it Hinata told you about Bessie?”

“He did,” Kageyama replies, and tries not to fidget as he considers how he should phrase what he wants to ask next. The thought had come to him in the shower, while he was trying to work out what to do with his morning. Even a leisurely breakfast and a trip to the motel across the street wouldn’t take up that much time, and he was too antsy to just sit around in either the sun or in an air conditioned building.

So he’d thought of another solution.

“Is it alright if I go back to that race track?”

“Race track?” Daichi repeats, fully lowering his newspaper. “You mean Willy’s Butte?”

Kageyama nods. “It can be the same as yesterday if you want – only a small amount of fuel in my tank so I can’t go anywhere,” he just manages to bite this part out without sounding too sour about it, “and if you’re there to supervise…?”

He still isn’t keen, by any stretch of the imagination, on asking Hinata of all people for tips on how take the corner, but that doesn’t mean he’s giving up on it. If he wants a fair race to show the annoying handyman which of them was the real racer, then he has to first make sure he can get around that turn properly. And there’s never been any racing manoeuvre he hasn’t been able to get before as long as he practices hard enough, so he might as well start now. He’s sure after a few goes on it he’ll get the hang of it – it was just the loose dirt that threw him the first time, that’s all.

“I see,” Daichi says, musing. “Well, it’s okay with me, but I’d have to clear it with the Mayor first… why don’t you head over to Suga’s and get some breakfast and I’ll meet you there with what he says?”

Suga’s? Oh. Sugawara. He means The V8 Café.

Kageyama’s loathe to wait, impatient as he is, but he nods his assent regardless, and pushes out of the doors into the early morning sunshine.

(And, really, Hinata could have at least gotten him a pair of stupid souvenir sunglasses to go with the rest of his walking advert outfit)

“ _Love_ the shirt,” Sugawara had said immediately upon Kageyama’s entrance to the café, and he almost turns on his heel to stride straight back out again, but the smell of freshly cooked eggs keeps him in place.

It seems quite a few of the townsfolk get breakfast at the café – some of them he recognises, like Tanaka and Nishinoya who are sharing a booth, and others he’s seen but hasn’t said a word to. Most of the strangers ignore him, save for a few curious glances, and Kageyama is thankful that he’s left alone to eat on his own in a booth tucked away into the corner.

He’s just finishing when Daichi strolls in through the doors, and after a few polite greetings with the townspeople, he heads straight for Kageyama with a small smile on his face. “Good news, the Mayor okayed your request to go back to the track.”

Kageyama blinks up at the policeman, surprised. He wasn’t actually expecting it to be that easy. Then an excited little grin bursts over his face and he leaps to his feet, eager to get started.

“Oh! Hey, the new guy’s wearing the jeans I designed!” Nishinoya cries as they pass, apparently having only just noticed Kageyama’s presence.

“A man with taste!” Tanaka agrees just as loudly. “Good morning, Kageyama.”

“G-good morning…?”

“Are you two ever not noisy?” Daichi cuts in then like a saviour, sparing Kageyama any further awkwardness on top of what he was already experiencing. “People are trying to eat in peace. Come on, Kageyama.”

Blowing out a relieved breath, Kageyama follows Daichi back out into the sun, towards the impound where his car is waiting for him.

* * *

“Oh come on!”

Kageyama curses furiously under his breath as the Corvette skids uselessly over the dirt, spinning a full 180 degrees. He had managed to not slip so as to end up down the dirt bank again, but so far, that was all he had managed. He has no idea how long he’s been out here, but he’s had several attempts at Willy’s Butte’s turn three, and during absolutely none of them had he managed to even get close to making the turn.

With a grunt, he shoves his car back into first, ready to head back up the straight for another try, when a hand knocks its knuckles against his driver’s window.

Expecting it to be Daichi, Kageyama rolls down his window irritably, not looking up and fiddling with some of the traction controls on his car. “Is Betty ready?” He grumbles.

“ _Bessie,”_ an unexpected voice says, “and yes.”

Dread building, Kageyama flicks his gaze up to find Hinata peering down at him. “You here to gloat?” He grunts, his already grumpy mood worsening. Surely the handyman could have just told Daichi the road paving machine was up and ready to go, there really was no reason to come and tell him person. Unless Hinata just wanted to laud his superior dirt knowledge over him.

“Could be,” Hinata replies, with an oddly blank expression on his face. “Or I could help you with this turn.”

He phrases it in a way that sounds carefully controlled – like he was hiding how he really felt about that sentence. It sets Kageyama’s teeth on edge. “I don’t need help,” he bites out.

The blank expression on the other man’s face cracks, and Hinata sighs with deep irritation. “Okay, look,” he says, leaning down further until his head was almost poking in through Kageyama’s open window. “Suga told me you thought the race yesterday was unfair.”

“It _was_ unfair,” Kageyama hisses back.

“Well if you want it to _be_ fair, then don’t you need to able to, y’know, actually get around the track?” Hinata growls back, his temper ticking.

“I can manage on my own.”

“Yeah and you’re clearly doing a bang-up job of it too,” Hinata says sardonically. “Look, you’re only here for a few days. And I would actually kind of like to beat you fair and square too, so why don’t we skip the pride and just go straight to the part where I tell you how dirt works? Because this is sort of painful to watch.”

“You want to beat me fair and square?” Kageyama asks dubiously. He’s still very sore over the other man not even starting yesterday, and the smug face is still fresh in his mind.

“Of course,” Hinata says simply, and then suddenly straightens to grab for Kageyama’s door handle, flinging the door open. “Now get out.”

“You are _not_ driving my car.”

“I don’t need to, thanks. Have my own,” Hinata says waspishly. “I’m just going to show you the angles I mean.”

Kageyama eyes him suspiciously for a few moments, wary that Hinata was going to just drag him out of the driver’s seat and clamber in himself, before he eventually hauls himself out of the car.

Hinata makes a point of slamming the door closed after him and strides towards turn four, gesturing for Kageyama to follow.

“Right. So, this isn’t asphalt, this is dirt,” Hinata says when they get to turn four, and he scuffs the loose ground beneath their feet with his trainer. “And you’re braking way too hard.”

Kageyama frowns. “I don’t want to end up in a mountain.”

“You won’t if you trust your car,” Hinata says, and then raises his arms to point towards turn one, straight ahead of them. “You’re too reserved when you hit turns one and two, you need to go at them full throttle. That slope? That’s track, treat it like it is, use it.” He swings his arms in a curve, mimicking the movement until he’s facing the straight that links turns two and three. “With that momentum, head towards turn three with full throttle, and _don’t_ brake.”

“ _Don’t brake?_ ” Kageyama repeats, flabbergasted. Does this man want him to end up flipping his car completely?

“You don’t have three wheel brakes,” Hinata says simply. “You _can’t_ brake. Just drive it with the throttle.” He looks up to Kageyama’s disbelieving expression and smiles wide. “Slingshot yourself around the first two turns, and once you’ve got that speed, head down the second straight with all you’ve got. When you get to turn three, just power through, brake it loose. Aim to turn right and you’ll find yourself drifting.” He pans his hand around the course as he explains, his eyes bright and shining. Glowing.

For the first time, Kageyama sees that same spark of passion for the art of racing.

He’s following along, until Hinata suddenly says, “You know… float like a Cadillac, sting like a Beamer!”

“… _What?”_

“You’ve not heard that one before?” Hinata asks, brown eyes round. Clearly the idiot thinks this is a normal saying that most people know of, but before Kageyama can dutifully correct him he sighs and scrubs a hand through his bright orange hair. “Hmm, how I should I put it… ah!”

He holds his hands out like he’s about to karate chop something. “If you’re going hard enough left,” he says and bends his hands to the left, “you’ll find yourself turning right.” He turns his hands to over to the right. “Make sense?”

Kageyama boggles at him, completely lost. “No? What does that mean, turn left to go right?”

“It means exactly that!” Hinata retorts huffily, folding his arms. “If you turn right your car will drift to the left around the turn.”

“No, I’ll end up in the cacti,” Kageyama says slowly. “Look maybe _your_ car can make opposite turns, but I’m pretty sure mine follows where I point the wheel.”

“It’s called _drifting_ you idiot,” Hinata snaps. “Why don’t you just try it instead of dismissing what I say immediately?”

“Because it doesn’t make any sense!”

“Yes it does! You turn to the right hard so you’ll-“

“End up going left, yes, you said,” Kageyama interrupts, now thoroughly fed up. He’s sure whatever method Hinata has in his head works for the other man, but he’s just not seeing it. He’s always been methodical in all of his manoeuvres, liking to plan and prepare. In racing, he’s much better at easing into a slipstream and slipping past his opponents on the straights, overtaking them with sheer speed. He can overtake on the corners too, but overtaking by going through the inside or outside of another car’s racing line has never been his forte. It’s always been the sticking point between him and the slew of crew chiefs he’s had the past year.

“Well, I’m sure that all works for you,” he says, voicing his thoughts. “But I don’t think-“

“Will you please just listen?” Hinata despairs. “Would it kill you to listen to someone else’s thoughts on racing for five minutes?”

“I am listening,” Kageyama says, confusion knitting his brow. “I just don’t understa-“

“Alright, alright, doesn’t Kageyama have work to be doing?” Another voice interrupts them, and they both turn in unison to be faced with Daichi, who’s standing a short distance away looking more than a little unimpressed.

“He does,” Hinata agrees, voice like thunder. He doesn’t even give Kageyama a second glance as he storms away across the track, to where the yellow gleam of his Porsche can just be seen up on the bank where Daichi’s police car sits.

“You two still not getting along?” Daichi questions as he watches Kageyama head back to his own car.

“Nope,” Kageyama says curtly, and slams his car door closed.

* * *

In contrast to his first day of paving, there seems to be a lot more activity in the town today to observe, which helps to offset some of Kageyama’s boredom at least.

He leans on a part of Bessie’s control console that doesn’t have any buttons and watches curiously as Tanaka and Nishinoya carry between them several cans and a large number of paintbrushes towards the tyre shop.

The cans turn out to be paint samples, he guesses, as the two men take it in turns to stick a brush in them one at a time and then daub the wooden panels of Nishinoya’s shop with various splatters of green.

“I think you need it brighter to be honest with you man,” Tanaka is saying, as Nishinoya gets a turn to try out a dark forest green shade.

“Like the flag!” Nishinoya enthuses, and rummages around their collection of paint tins for the shade he’s suddenly inspired by.

“Flag?” Kageyama mutters to himself, baffled.

He’s so distracted by the two grown men across the street squabbling over whose turn it is next to paint the wall the selected green that he only realises he’s being spoken to halfway through a sentence.

“- everyone giving their place a new lick of paint!”

Kageyama blinks as the words finally reach his ears and swings his gaze around, confused, until he finally spots Hinata at the other side of Bessie, holding a toolbox in one hand with a folded ladder thrown over his other shoulder. “Sorry?”

“Why are you apologising at a compliment?” Hinata asks, looking just as baffled as Kageyama feels.

“No, I don’t… what did you say?” Kageyama yells back, trying to fight back the now instinctive irritation he feels whenever he and the handyman speak. It’s like they’re always missing each other.

Although, in his defence, Bessie is quite loud, so it’s no wonder he missed the first part of Hinata’s sentence. He can only hear Tanaka and Nishinoya because it seems as though their volume knob is permanently turned straight to full blast.

(“Oh how about _neon!”_

“ _No,_ Tanaka!”)

“Everyone’s giving their place a new coat of paint!” Hinata repeats himself, at an indulgently higher volume. “Even the houses!”

He points across the street, through the gap between Tanaka’s shop and the café, where if Kageyama squints hard enough, he can see the town’s houses. And indeed, there seems to be a tall man in the distance, with what Kageyama thinks is long hair pulled into a messy bun, dutifully giving one of the houses a new coat of fresh white paint.

“So they are,” Kageyama intones, now suddenly bored of this inane conversation. It might be a revelation to Hinata, but Kageyama thinks it’s a little mundane to be honest, and he certainly doesn’t see why Hinata would think mentioning it was complimentary in any way.

Hinata shifts the ladder on his shoulder and a flash of awkwardness flits across his face before he clears his throat and says, loudly, “The road’s looking good!”

This causes Kageyama to blink in mild surprise and he turns in his seat just enough to be able to see the stretch of road behind him. Bessie’s incinerator blocks most of his view, but he can see a reasonable length of fresh, smooth tarmac spread out behind him. It _does_ look infinitely better than his first attempt, he has to begrudgingly admit, and he supposes at very least it’s a sign of progress.

“Well,” he says, borderline shouting, as he turns his attention back to the controls to dutifully allow more tarmac to fall to the ground. “Maybe I _can_ listen.”

“Apparently! Who knew!” Hinata shoots back, but his head is turned away as he regards the new road behind them, so Kageyama can’t make out his expression.

A mixture of annoyance and deep pettiness curdles in his stomach. “And I’m _not_ lazy.”

He doesn’t really know why he’s bothering to state this – he normally doesn’t care much about what people think of him when it isn’t about his racing, but something about Hinata makes him want to prove himself.

Hinata turns his gaze back to him, and he’s not smiling or frowning, but rather looking almost… considering. Thoughtful. “Perhaps,” he says, his voice now much quieter and almost lost to the roar of Bessie’s thundering engine. And then he shifts the weight of the ladder across his shoulder once more and continues his journey down the street without another word.

Kageyama watch him go, a combination of emotions he cannot identify warring within him, before he groans his annoyance and shoves Bessie into standby. He can’t sit here all wound up in the middle of the afternoon heat or he’ll just end up losing his temper all over again. He drops to the ground with a grunt, intending on heading to The V8 Café for lunch and something refreshing to drink when suddenly he’s accosted by both Tanaka and Nishinoya.

“Okay Kageyama,” Tanaka says, before he can even get a word out, “work with me here, Noya should totally go for a bright colour, right?”

He brandishes a paintbrush in Kageyama’s face which is dipped in a nauseating shade of lurid green.

“Look I love flashy,” Nishinoya interjects as Kageyama reverses back enough so that he doesn’t end up with paint on his face. “But it’s supposed to be a classy place!”

“It’s a _tyre shop_ Noya!”

“Are you saying white-walled tyres aren’t classy?”

Kageyama sighs deeply at the bickering before him and drags his hands down his face, trying to work out the quickest way to escape so he can have a sandwich. “Isn’t the tyre tower flashy enough?” He finally bursts out in despair, gesticulating at the leaning tower of rubber, the fairylights strung across it glinting in the sunlight. Nishinoya is giving him a suspicious look, as though daring him to say anything negative here, so he hurries to clarify, “I just don’t think you need bright paint when you have _that_ to catch people’s attention.”

“ _See!_ Kageyama knows what it’s all about!” Nishinoya says brightly, his face immediately lighting up in a huge grin. “Kageyama you can have one free white-walled tyre on me,” and he smacks the back of Kageyama’s back soundly.

“Thank… you? Wait, _one?”_

“Well you have to buy the other three first, obviously.”

Kageyama tries not to scowl too hard at the thought of his beloved Corvette having white-walled tyres on it of all things, but he apparently fails, judging by Tanaka’s burst of laughter.

“Well I can make the shade you want with all of this,” Tanaka says once he’s collected himself, pointing at the small collection of paint samples. “But what should I do with all the bright shades? Seems a waste not to use ‘em.”

“Paint your car?” Kageyama suggests sardonically, eyeing the lurid Impala across the street. Where it was bright purple yesterday, today it’s now a burnt amber. Apparently repainting his car seems to be a hobby of Tanaka’s.

Tanaka’s eyes go round with wonder. “Perfect! Kageyama you are a genius, you can have one panel of your car painted for free to go with your one free white-walled tyre,” he enthuses, and then promptly gathers up all of the paint samples in a wobbling stack in his arms and dashes back to his shop, looking slightly manic.

“His car’s going to look awful,” Nishinoya cackles, seemingly delighted. “Well thanks for your help Kageyama, and you get back to me about those tyres, okay?”

“I… sure,” Kageyama replies lamely as the shorter man springs away back into his shop, leaving him standing there, completely baffled as to what had just happened.

(“Do you have heat stroke?” Sugawara had asked when he eventually made it into The V8 Café, still feeling stunned.

“Tanaka and Nishinoya-“

“Say no more,” Sugawara had interrupted sympathetically, and slid a particularly fruity smoothie across the counter towards him.)

Belly full and feeling considerably more refreshed, Kageyama is sipping from a fresh water bottle and about to swing himself back up into Bessie’s cab when a small, female voice pipes up somewhere by his shoulder.

“U-um? Excuse me?”

Kageyama spins, and finds the blonde woman who’d voiced her concerns over Hinata racing yesterday hovering next to him. Her hair is pulled up into a little side ponytail, dressed neat business casual. She’s older, like everyone else in the town (apart from Hinata) and quite short, looking even tinier next to Kageyama, who is well over six feet. She exudes a strange sort of energy that’s a mixture of extremely nervous but also extremely sweet.

“Yes?” Kageyama asks, and tries to keep the tiredness out of his voice. He’s desperately hoping this isn’t another sales pitch.

“I own the Cosy Cone Motel – well, co-own, actually – and we were wondering if you-“ she starts to say, but then Kageyama interrupts.

“The motel?” He parrots hopefully. “I need to ask you about a room.”

“Oh!” The woman says, brightly, “Great! Well, okay, so I’m Yachi Hitoka,” she drops into a quick, neat bow, “and we would be happy to accommodate you! My colleague, Shimizu, she runs the motel with me, and she can help arrange a room for you!”

“Thank-you,” Kageyama says, slightly blindsided by how the petite woman had simply bubbled into a small ball of sunshine once her nerves had gone. “But I don’t actually have any money on me, so is it alright if you-“

“Invoice?” Yachi supplies with a smile. “Of course!” She pats his arm gently with dainty fingers, her turquoise nail polish glinting in the sun. “Suga told me about it earlier. Don’t worry, we won’t see you out of a bed!”

“O-oh,” Kageyama stammers, completely thrown for what feels like the tenth time that hour alone. Just yesterday everyone was furious with him, and now he was being offered services left and right, it made his head spin. And the most confusing thing about it was that it was all completely genuine. He’s struggling to find his voice to express his gratitude but Yachi seems to understand, and she pats his arm again and points to the motel.

“Shimizu’s in the office,” she says. “All our rooms have been recently refurbished, and she’ll help you pick the perfect one!”

Kageyama raises his gaze to the… _odd_ layout of the town’s motel. There’s a small, one floor building in the middle of its little plaza, which Kageyama assumes is the office, and then a wide drive encircles it – beginning at one of the main road and passing by all the huge traffic cones on the outer circumference before looping back to rejoin the road again. Now he’s looking properly, all of the cones have doors set into them, and numbers above each one. They must be the actual rooms, rather than just for decoration. An odd design, but eye catching, he supposes. He likes the sign above the office at least that advertises the place. It has neon tubing, same as the rest of the establishments (though it seems much cleaner), twisted up to form the letters of _Cosy Cone Motel_ as well as a small cartoon car that appears to be sleeping.

“Thanks,” he manages to get out to Yachi, who smiles brightly at him and then scurries away, in the direction of the court house.

Stashing his water bottle in Bessie’s cab, Kageyama heads straight over to the motel’s office building, figuring he might as well get this sorted now.

The office is small but neat, with a collection of potted plants and folding chairs and a tiny television mounted in the corner playing a local radio station. There’s a desk at the far end, with a woman seated behind it, gazing down at a folder spread out before her. She looks up when he approaches, and smiles softly at him. “Welcome to the Cosy Cone, I’m Shimizu.”

The first impression of Shimizu that he has is that she’s remarkably elegant. Refined. Like she would remain calm regardless of the situation. She has long hair, dark and streaked with grey – stripes of silver that mingle with the black as it’s twisted into a neat bun at the top of her head. It suits her, Kageyama thinks, the pattern making a sort of marble effect. She reminds him very suddenly of Miwa, about fifteen years in the future, and his stomach twists up tight.

“Kageyama,” he says, awkwardly, and he wonders wildly whether that’s a redundant thing to say. He has a feeling everyone in town knows his name, even if they might not know who he _is_. “I was wondering you could help me with a room…?”

“Certainly,” Shimizu says, and she moves her folder to the side. “How can I help?”

It doesn’t take long at all for Kageyama to select a basic single room (the motel is very small, and there isn’t much choice) and to pass on the details of his agent that he does know to help Shimizu create a basic invoice for him. Booking completed, she slides a key across the desk towards him and points towards the cone to their far right with a number 1 painted above its door.

“That’s your one. If you need anything, just let me know.”

He nods his thanks and pockets the key, turning back towards the door.

As Kageyama leaves the office, sighing irritably at the wave of heat that hits him (he’s never going to get used to the sudden temperature change every time he leaves a building), a sudden clang overhead makes him jump.

He spins, alarmed, and then nearly falls flat on his face in shock.

Hinata is on the roof of the Cosy Cone’s office. With his shirt off.

The handyman isn’t facing him, he’s bent over and hammering at something on the roof tiles. Fixing something, probably, and only just now does Kageyama log the ladder propped up against the side of the office building and the scattering of tools around on the floor. The overhead sun is high in the sky in its mid-afternoon peak, which is why Hinata has probably opted to strip off his undershirt and the top layer of his jumpsuit both, lest he melt under the hot sun.

Kageyama goggles as the redhead straightens to swipe the back of his hand across his forehead. The other man may be a good head shorter than Kageyama when he’s on the ground, but he’s certainly not… _small_. Suddenly all the saliva in Kageyama’s mouth dries up completely as he watches those back muscles flex in the sunshine as Hinata stretches out his arm before reaching over for something.

Then the jumpsuit tied around his waist slips lower to sit at his hips as he moves and Kageyama immediately stumbles backwards at the _thing_ that is suddenly revealed.

Craning his neck for a better look, he finds his feet tripping over themselves rapidly as he gapes… until his heel taps into something hard and solid and then suddenly all he can see is a large swath of endless blue sky.

With a yelp, Kageyama tumbles over backwards, landing with a muffled _fwump_ on his back onto the small patch of grass in the middle of the Cosy Cone’s driveway.

“Err… you okay down there?”

Kageyama curses viciously under his breath as he sits up, glaring at the plant pot he had tripped over and giving it a little kick for a good measure. It doesn’t budge, and now there’s a boot print across it. Inside the office, Shimizu has stood up from her desk, looking concerned, though she hasn’t ventured outside yet, which was probably a wise choice.

Cheeks burning with humiliation, Kageyama clambers to his feet and makes a show of dusting himself off until the heat recedes enough that he feels he can look up at the man on the roof safely. Hinata is now fully turned towards him, a hammer in one hand and the other shielding his eyes from the sun as he gazes down at Kageyama with a mixture of mild concern and mischievous glee.

Kageyama’s mouth works soundlessly for a few moments before he blurts, “You have something on your back,” and then swiftly wishes to fall into Bessie’s incinerator.

“My back…?” Hinata, who has unfortunately heard him, parrots, and twists around to try and look.

Kageyama wonders what would be less suspicious – just striding off to get back into Bessie without a word, or explaining himself. With a despairing sigh, he opts for the latter. He doesn’t think Hinata will let it go anyway. “Your… tattoo,” he admits around puckered lips, “it surprised me.”

“My what?” Hinata hollers back because _of course_ he didn’t hear that part.

“Your tattoo!” Kageyama bellows and immediately feels his face explode again.

Because, inexplicably, across Hinata’s lower back is a pinstripe tattoo, and something about it is just that side of rebellious that it had taken Kageyama completely off guard.

Hinata blinks once, then twice, before an infuriatingly wide and ecstatic grin blooms over his face and he’s throwing his head back to laugh, bright and loud. “What, you’ve never seen one before?” He asks, teasing with a wicked smile.

Thoroughly embarrassed, Kageyama spins on his heel to march back to Bessie because clearly that’s what he should have done in the first place, when there’s a clatter and a thump and he turns just in time to see Hinata leap down from the roof. Admittedly the office building is only one story and the roof low-slung, but seeing the other man just drop down like it’s nothing was still more than a little alarming.

Hinata scampers over to him instantly, apparently not bothered at all about the height he just fell from, and enters Kageyama’s line of view before he can escape. He has an evil smile on his face and just as he opens he mouth, Kageyama cuts in first, hotly, before the goading can start, “You just don’t seem like the kind of guy who would sit for a pinstripe tattoo, that’s all.”

Big brown eyes go wide with indignation, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did you cry? I bet you cried.”

“ _I did not!”_

“Uh huh.”

“Well I have one and you don’t, so I’m still braver.”

“How do you know I don’t have one?”

“Do you?” Hinata asks, leaning in close with intrigue, and smirks at Kageyama’s flustered silence.

“Where’d you even get that done, anyway?” Kageyama asks as he takes several steps back to get the infuriating handyman out of his space. “Did Tanaka do it?” He has a sudden, slightly terrifying, image of the bodywork artist taking up tattooing in his spare time and he shudders a little at the thought of glittery purple flames being inked on his body.

“ _Tanaka?”_ Hinata says, temporarily thrown, “No, and don’t give him ideas.” He spins on his heel as they get halfway towards Bessie, heading back towards the Cosy Cone as if suddenly remembering he actually had work to be doing. “And that’s for me to know!”

Kageyama watches him retreat, his eyes drawn unwillingly to spread of ink across Hinata’s lower back.

It’s an intricate pattern – of nothing in particular, it seems, just a mesh of thin lines in an attractive weave that’s more complicated in the middle and flares out at the sides like wings. It’s not that big, really, about the size of two hands, with the edges just curling around the sides of Hinata’s hips. Kageyama doesn’t know a lot about tattooing, or anything about it at all really, but he thinks that would take a while to ink. He’s genuinely surprised Hinata managed to sit still long enough. Then he smacks his cheeks to chase the heat away when his fluster coils up hot inside him again. It was just a tattoo, people had tattoos.

With a grumble, he crosses the rest of the distance to Bessie and heaves himself up. It occurs to him then, as gets back into the cab, that that had been the first reasonably civil conversation he’d had with the man. For once, it hadn’t felt like they were arguing so much as… sparring. Trading back and forth. Kageyama pushed and Hinata pushed back, but this time they had met in the middle rather than missing the mark.

He watches Hinata swing himself back up to the rooftop, from the ladder this time, the sun glinting off bright orange curls as he goes. And he thinks of the tattoo, and the golden yellow Porsche Cayman and how Hinata is a good decade or two younger than everyone else in town and his brow creases in thought.

Those aren’t the qualities of your usual local country handyman, he thinks, and not for the first time, he wonders if Hinata never came from Karasuno Springs at all.

Maybe he ended up here too.

* * *

“Alright! Time to get out!”

Kageyama jolts violently in his seat as Hinata suddenly pops up by his side, apparently just clinging to Bessie’s cab like a monkey.

In fairness, the machine moved so slowly it would’ve been easy to clamber on even when she was in motion and she was so noisy Hinata wouldn’t have been heard, but Kageyama still feels he should’ve noticed. Hinata has an extremely bad habit of simply popping into Kageyama’s vision unannounced, he really should be used to it by now.

Unfortunately, he’d been distracted by a cow at the very end of the road who had been there since the sun had started to set, and didn’t seem intent on moving at all. Kageyama had no idea where it had come from – but presumably this was a semi-regular occurrence however, because none of the townsfolk seemed to care about their new visitor.

“What do you want?” Kageyama snaps at Hinata, once he’d settled again.

“You’re done for the day,” Hinata says, and just reaches straight into the cab to flick the switch to kill Bessie’s engine. The road paving machine gives one last bone shaking shudder, before she noisily grinds to a halt.

“Hey!”

“What? It’s getting dark now, you can’t see anyway,” Hinata says with a shrug, unbothered by Kageyama’s protestations. “Besides, I need to fill her up again.”

“Can’t you do that in the morning?” Kageyama grumbles, though he slides from his seat regardless. There’s no point trying to turn the machine back on now, even though he felt he was making good progress – he really doesn’t feel like having another argument with the handyman today.

“Won’t have time,” Hinata chirps as he pushes a few buttons in the cab that causes the incinerator at the back to clunk and moan. Kageyama can hear the aching groan of old machine parts moving as something happens at Bessie’s back end, but he can’t see what from this angle. “I’ve got a list of jobs as long as my arm to do now everyone wants to get their shops all spruced up.”

Kageyama makes a curious noise, intrigued. Because that sounded like Hinata suddenly had an awful lot more work to do than he normally did, but instead of looking annoyed about it or even tired, the other man looked almost chipper. “And… that’s a good thing?” He asks, trying to angle his voice to sound questioning rather than dubious. He’s already learned the hard way Hinata is a little tetchy about his town.

“Of course it’s a good thing!” Hinata says as he reverses back out of the cab and drops back to the ground. “Normally it’s just maintenance or fixing anything vital that’s broken but these guys haven’t wanted to give their shops a facelift for forever.” He turns and bends and hefts a large sack that was sitting on the ground next to him over his shoulder with a grunt. Kageyama privately marvels – it looks quite heavy. “I think the new road’s inspiring them!”

“Oh,” Kageyama replies, unprepared for that response. He thinks back to earlier, how Hinata had been so happy to see Tanaka and Nishinoya trying out paint samples on the sides of their buildings. At the time he thought it odd, country town boredom at best, but now he can sort of see Hinata’s view. The handyman is clearly passionate about his town, so the sight of his fellow townsfolk making an effort to peel away the ghost town façade of the place was probably somewhat exciting, in a dreary sort of way.

Idly, he follows after the redhead as the other man heads to the back of Bessie to where a shoot of some sort had opened up. With a grunt, Hinata tilts the bag on his shoulder just so, and then a steady stream of crunched up asphalt starts falling from the opening in the sack and down the shoot. Curiosity satisfied, he spins on his heel, fully intending on just heading straight to the Cosy Cone and his first bed in days, when suddenly he stops dead.

Somehow, in the midst of everything that had happened, with car chases and bad tempers and vehicle roofs blocking in the view, Kageyama had missed just how _bright_ the night sky was out here.

He turns in place, slowly, mesmerised. The entire sky above, although inky black, is bathed in a sea of stars – more than he can ever remember seeing in his entire life. He’d spent many a night outdoors, at racetracks usually, but he’d never seen such a beautiful array. Twenty two years old, and he’d thought all this time there were only a few stars in the sky.

Turns out there are millions.

“Quite the view huh?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama breathes out, instinctively, before he clocks it was Hinata that had asked the question.

The handyman has seemingly finished refilling Bessie, and is now standing several paces behind him, the sack of asphalt now visibly smaller.

“You don’t see anywhere near as many in the city,” Hinata goes on to say, his gaze skyward. “Light pollution, I think it’s called. Something about all the lights on the ground drowning out all the lights in the sky.”

“Shame,” Kageyama murmurs, and he means it. For the first time, there was something about this arid place in the middle of nowhere he could truly call beautiful.

“Want to see them even better?”

Thrown, Kageyama makes a curious noise and wrenches his gaze away from the sea of stars above to look back at Hinata – who looks just as surprised. Like he’d blurted out the offer before he even had time to process he was doing it.

Who was he offering _to._

Hinata clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and the surprise is wiped away to be replaced with something… softer. Something like shyness. “There’s a field, not too far from here, where you can see them perfectly. The mountains kind of get in the way here, but in the field? Thousands of stars as far as the eye can see. I can take you, if you want.”

“Okay,” Kageyama says, before he too can process what he’s saying.

Maybe it’s because this is the second time they’ve managed to not get immediately under each other’s skin, or maybe it’s because Kageyama cannot remember the last time he was invited anywhere that wasn’t for racing, but _yes_ , he wants to go with Hinata to see the stars.

Because the handyman is as intriguing as he is infuriating, and Kageyama has questions. And maybe now, with the air feeling warm and pleasant and comfortable around them, he can ask them.

Hinata’s eyes blink, wide and round, before that sunny smile blooms across the redhead’s face, brown eyes full of warmth, in such contrast to the fire and brimstone they had been full of earlier.

Kageyama’s not sure yet, but he thinks he prefers them this way.


	5. Hinata's Work Shed

In the end, Hinata tells Kageyama to wait by his Cosy Cone while he fetches his car.

Kageyama had been almost tempted to ask if they could take his, before he suddenly remembered that he had a distinct lack of working headlights.

In any case, it gives him time to briefly check out his room at the motel while he waits.

It’s fairly standard fair – a double bed with an en suite, simple and neat. The traffic cone theme is kept up inside as well, with cone-shaped picture frames and an alarm clock entirely in the shape of one. The whole room is painted a muted orange that really should be sort of garish, but instead it just feels warm.

“Cosy,” Kageyama admits, as he spins in a little circle in the middle of the room.

He opts to take a quick shower now he has the chance, and quietly revels in being able to have one at a temperature he likes with soap and shampoo that were actually separate from each other. Coupled with the bed, this was going to be his most luxurious night he’d had in days.

Sort of wishing he had something else to wear other than souvenir t-shirts, he pulls on a fresh one from the bag (with a large picture on the front of the traffic sign for ‘hazard ahead’) and exits his room, folding his arms awkwardly as he waits for Hinata. At least the temperature outside was a lot easier to manage now – the majority of the heat having burned off but still warm enough to not need a jacket (although Kageyama would’ve preferred to have one if he had the option.)

Then there’s a distant growl of an engine and two bright beams shining in the distance and Kageyama unfolds his arms as Hinata’s Porsche rolls down the road from the town entrance end towards him.

“Ohh, good shirt choice!” Hinata says through his open windows when the Porsche stops in front of him.

“Shut up,” Kageyama grumbles with no heat, fumbling for the door handle and clambering into the other man’s car. He’s even more sour to note that the handyman has gotten changed himself – into a pair of cotton shorts and a short-sleeved button up. It’s a nice outfit, and now Kageyama feels even more ridiculous.

“If it makes you feel better, there are worse horrors than this in that shop,” Hinata tells him, plucking at Kageyama’s sleeve. “You should be grateful I only picked out the white ones.”

Kageyama can’t think of a response to that that wouldn’t make him seem incredibly ungrateful for the free clothing, even if he still hates everything that he’s wearing, so he opts to keep quiet, silently scowling at the dashboard.

Hinata seems to take this as a cue to start driving, and shifts his car into gear to pull away back onto the road that leads them out of town.

With the other man quiet for a change, it gives Kageyama a chance to appreciate the interior of his car. It’s impeccably clean, despite living in such a dusty, arid area. Hinata clearly took incredible care of his pride and joy, the whole thing is immaculate.

Aside from the colour, which is entirely too bright and yet somehow entirely perfect for someone like Hinata, Kageyama does have to admit that the Porsche is _gorgeous_. All curving lines and soft leather upholstery and a gleaming dash. A bit less extravagant inside than his Corvette, and smaller, but his heart still sings alongside the engine as it roars loud when Hinata pulls onto the main road leading out of town, the moonlight glinting off the bodywork.

“It’s beautiful,” Kageyama finds himself saying, unbidden.

“I’m sorry?” Hinata asks, startled.

Kageyama clears his throat awkwardly and runs his fingers over the inside panelling of the passenger door. “Your car,” he elaborates. He and the handyman may have gotten off entirely on the wrong foot, and Kageyama still isn’t sure what he thinks about the other man’s ideas of racing, but this he can admit. He knows a beautiful car when he sees one.

Idly, he wonders how Hinata was able to afford it in the first place, knowing all too well how expensive cars like this could be, even if he could manage most of its upkeep by himself.

“I… thank-you,” Hinata says, after a pause, his voice full of warmth, and when Kageyama glances over at him the handyman is aiming a soft smile down at his steering wheel. “It took me a long time to get her,” he says, once again seemingly plucking Kageyama’s thoughts straight from his head.

He figures asking about Hinata’s financial situation is incredibly rude, even for him, so Kageyama opts to leave the topic lie here. Fiddling with one of the holes in his jeans’ knees, he rolls the other questions he wants to ask around in his mouth.

The silence in the car, aside from the rumble of the Porsche’s powerful engine, steadily becomes a little too uncomfortable to manage so he asks quietly, “can I ask you something?” Might as well test the waters first before just diving in. If he pisses Hinata off too much the redhead might just leave him out here in the middle of nowhere.

Brown eyes flick over to him curiously before refocusing back on the road. “Shoot.”

“How do you have time to be a dirt racing champion if you have to do…” Kageyama plucks at the loose threads of jeans as he grapples to find the word he wants.

“Everything?” Hinata supplies with a laugh, and Kageyama nods. It does seem as though Hinata did _all_ the maintenance work, he had certainly never seen the other man relaxing in the café like the other residents - he always seemed to be either working or bustling around town.

“Good time management,” Hinata says. “I’m impressed you managed to get the words ‘dirt racing champion’ out without bursting a blood vessel.” And, before Kageyama can interject, “Going off road now.”

The Porsche rocks neatly as Hinata abruptly turns off of the road, heading straight out onto what seems to be a dirt path, from what Kageyama can see with the low illumination of the headlights. It’s not as bumpy as he expects, and it occurs to him that Hinata has probably modified his chassis slightly to handle rough terrain, especially if his Cayman is taking on dirt roads at speed.

“I didn’t say dirt racing was _bad_ ,” Kageyama points out moodily.

“But you think your racing is better,” Hinata replies simply, but when Kageyama looks over at him he doesn’t look annoyed or smug or any of the things he was expecting him to. He just looks curious instead, like he’s just waiting for Kageyama’s stance on the matter.

He opens his mouth to say that _yes, of course it was_ , when the image of the third turn of Willy’s Butte flashes in his mind and the sensation of sliding hopelessly across dirt fills his senses and he closes it again. If his version of racing, on asphalt at over two hundred miles an hour with forty-two other cars on the track was the more superior, then he should have been able to handle that turn no problem, like he originally thought.

But he didn’t, and still couldn’t.

“It’s… different,” Kageyama allows eventually, and this earns him a small smile in response. An approved reply, then.

The Porsche continues over the dirt until the shadows of the mountains in the distance get even further away and the terrain becomes rougher, the plant life more dense around them. More trees and patches of grass rather than just cacti and shrubbery.

“So if you’re the… _champion_ ,” Kageyama says, “I’m guessing there’s tournaments or something?”

Hinata gives him a look, but there’s a twinkle in his eye that suggests he’s amused. “ _I_ didn’t call myself the champion,” he points out. “But yeah, there are. Not regulated by an official body or anything, not like they used to be, so they’re mainly privately run these days. Still,” he says airily, shooting Kageyama a wicked grin, “I normally win.”

There’s something about that smile, that sudden burst of cockiness, with that golden glow to his eye that sends a little thrill up Kageyama’s spine.

But then he doesn’t have time to dwell on it before Hinata is suddenly stopping.

“Here we are,” the other man says, and shifts his car into park. He keeps the engine running, though he does reach over to switch off his headlights.

Intrigued, Kageyama reaches for his car door and opens it, stepping out into what seems to be a large field, with swaths of lush grass in every direction. There’s two simultaneous bangs as the Porsche’s doors are slammed closed again, and Kageyama tilts his head up to look at the sky.

“ _Oh…”_ He breathes softly.

Hinata wasn’t lying – the sky above is sea of starlight, as far as the eye can see.

There’s so many the inky black of the night is almost hidden with the millions of tiny pinpricks of light draped across it. The moon is small tonight, just a thin crescent, but it too seems brighter out here – a gleaming strip of white in amongst all the dots of colour. Kageyama turns slowly on the spot, gaping with quiet wonder.

“One plus point of living in the country,” Hinata’s voice floats out in the dark, “you can’t deny the views are pretty great.”

Kageyama hums his agreement, and finds himself leaning back until he’s resting against the still warm metal of the Porsche so that he can angle his head back further. It briefly occurs to him that this might be rude, leaning on someone’s car like this, until he spots Hinata out of the corner of his eye – sitting on the hood.

He watches the stars for a few minutes more before he lets his gaze drop, until it rests on the back of the handyman. Hinata is facing away from him, head tipped back to look up at the sky, and even though it’s dark his outline is perfectly illuminated with a silver glow from above. Kageyama looks at the moonbeams that bounce off the hood of the Porsche and the strands of Hinata’s hair and finds himself blurting before he can stop himself, “Are you really from the country?”

Startled, Hinata jolts in his place and twists until he’s looking over at Kageyama with a bemused expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, with a frown.

Kageyama pushes off from the other man’s car and runs his fingers through his hair awkwardly. “I just… I don’t think people with tattoos and Porsche Caymans typically come from a country town in the middle of nowhere,” he says and then immediately tries not to wince. That had sounded tactless to even his own ears.

Surprisingly, Hinata doesn’t seem to take offence, and an amused little smile winds its way across his face. “Judgey,” he says, voice light, “and, well, maybe the city isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

It’s about as much of an admission as Kageyama’s likely to get, he supposes, and Hinata’s tone is at odds with the entertained expression. He’s smiling, but he sounds… odd, like he’s closing the door on the topic with a façade of cheerfulness.

His curiosity wars within him, but he forces it down. There’s finally peace between them and Kageyama finds himself loathe to break it no matter how much he wants more information. He wishes he could pinpoint _why_ exactly, this strange handyman is so fascinating to him but there’s so many factors it’s hard to settle on a singular, stand out point.

He wonders when Hinata had tipped the scales fully into intriguing rather than simply infuriating.

His mind is so busy it strangles his throat, so in lieu of saying anything more, Kageyama settles back against the Porsche’s side and redirects his gaze back up at the sky above. It is soothing, he thinks, sitting back and star gazing. He’s never done anything like this before, sat still and admired the simple beauty of nature while the crickets chirp. If it weren’t for the pressing, looming event still weighing on his mind, it would almost be relaxing.

Eventually, the slight breeze that ripples through the field starts to turn brisk and, as goose pimples start to prick their way across his forearms, he sighs and shoves himself away from the Porsche. “Okay, time to go,” he says. He has no idea what time it is, but the more time he spends sitting around staring at the stars, the later it gets. And the later it gets the less likely it is he can get up early to get on with paving the road.

Not the first time, he wishes for a way to stop time – to put everything on pause, if only for a short while. But such a way does not exist, and as much as the stars are beautiful, the call of a Piston Cup is even more so.

“Already?” Hinata says, sounding a little surprised, but he pushes himself off the hood regardless, rounding around the side of his car to open the driver’s door. “Well sure, I guess, if you’re ready.”

“I need to get up early,” Kageyama grunts, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to meet Hinata’s gaze.

“To start paving?”

“Yeah.” Two slams once again, as they both clamber into their seats and the doors swing shut.

Hinata hums under his breath, but doesn’t say anything, just flicks the headlights back on and shifts his car into gear, and starts to lead them back out of the field towards the dirt roads.

“Alright, my turn to ask a question,” Hinata says after a few minutes of silence during their drive back, and Kageyama eyes him warily. It was probably a little too much to hope for that he’d stay silent.

“Okay…”

“Why the rush?”

“The… what?”

“To get to the racetrack,” Hinata elaborates, not taking his eyes off the dirt path ahead. “You had a week right? Before it started? What was the big hurry anyway, did you have interviews or something?”

“Oh,” Kageyama intones, realising now what he meant. He supposes it wouldn’t make much sense to someone like Hinata – who only raced on dirt tracks. The redhead probably just turned up for his race meets, mingled, raced, and went back home again. No pomp, no fanfare, no sponsor obligations, no _press_ …

Sounded kind of nice, actually.

“Is it a new track?” Hinata pipes up again, when Kageyama had let the silence lull for a little too long.

“No, I’ve raced on it before,” Kageyama grumbles, irritation ticking up again. He’d temporarily forgotten, in the long awkward silences in the car, that Hinata could be a mouth on a stick. “Lots of times, actually.”

Hinata goes to open his mouth again but Kageyama barrels over him, eager to stop playing twenty questions. “Dinoco is looking for a new driver.”

The handyman snaps his mouth shut, looking thrown by this response. He doesn’t reply, instead keeping his eyes trained ahead, shifting gears silently as the Porsche rocks back up onto the main road once again, staring off into the middle distance.

“There’s probably a whole bunch of people they’ve got their eye on,” Kageyama finds himself saying, feeling an incredible urge to fill the silence and explain himself. Brown eyes flick back over to him. “But this race is different – there’s only three of us – and it is… _was_ , going to be a good opportunity.” He sighs and tips his head back against his headrest. “The only one on the track… posting lap times, showing how fast you can go… plus the chance to speak to the management at Dinoco without interruptions… it was a good chance.”

He’s still bitter about it, if he’s frank. He understands that he has to stay, even if he doesn’t want to.

But honestly the longer he finds himself in Karasuno Springs the more the originally very tempting idea of breaking his car out and making a desperate bid for freedom seems… abhorrent. They weren’t just faceless country folk now, the townspeople, they had faces and names and were – they were _nice_.

Kageyama doesn’t want to be here, but he doesn’t want to _run away_ either.

“I see,” Hinata replies, watching him for a bit before he turns his gaze back to the road. There’s just a hint of something underlying his tone. Something like guilt, maybe. “So basically it was a week of schmooze.”

“Wait, _what?”_ Kageyama snaps, annoyance flaring up full force. “ _Schmooze?”_

“Yeah,” Hinata replies, unbothered, “schmooze. Peacocking. Sucking up.”

“ _What is your_ –“ Kageyama seethes, suddenly regretting every positive thought he’s had about the other man in last hour. “Do you even know who Dinoco _are?”_

Of course he doesn’t. He may possibly have moved out here from the city but otherwise Hinata lives in the middle of nowhere and hurtles his car around roughly hewn dirt tracks in his spare time for jollies, there’s no way he knows about the importance of the biggest company in motorsport-

“Of course I know who Dinoco are,” Hinata replies snippily, interrupting Kageyama’s mental rant. “I live in the country, not under a rock! _Everyone_ knows who Dinoco are, even _Asahi_ knows who Dinoco are and he barely knows three car makes.”

“Then you know why- why _sucking up_ is so- wait who’s Asahi?” Kageyama rants back and then stops halfway, momentarily baffled.

“Our fire safety officer… you probably haven’t met him, he’s chronically shy even though he’s huge.”

“Whatever!” Kageyama snaps, “Look the point is-“

“If you’re good enough, you won’t need the schmooze.”

Kageyama is about to blow his lid at the new interruption when he stops dead, suddenly stunned. The handyman has tilted his head towards him just slightly, so he can keep half an eye on the road in front of him but also level him with that same, golden-eyed stare.

“Huh?” Kageyama mumbles, eloquently.

Hinata shrugs a shoulder at him. “You’re good right?” He says, simply. “I mean with that car and that attitude you have to be. Even I know Dinoco are the biggest team in the business. If they want you, they’ll want you because you’re a good driver, you don’t have to suck up to them. Right?”

“I…” Kageyama falters, reeling. Technically Hinata is correct, one should be hired on their skill, but there’s so much more to professional racing than simple, unmatched speed. You have to win, you have to be charming, you have to be-

A lot of things, some of which Kageyama wasn’t confident in at all, and Hinata’s simple voice of ‘you’re good right?’ as though it really was all he needed fills him with such a sudden flare of warmth he’s unsure how to feel about it.

His words have left him, so instead he fists his hands in the fabric of his ridiculous jeans and sneaks a glance at the handyman instead.

Hinata is looking back at the road now, eyes distant again, his expression strange. Soft, and melancholy, and if the moonlight hits right, just the tiniest bit… sad.

“Hinata…?”

“We’re back,” the other man says, suddenly, and Kageyama jolts as, true to his word, the orange cones of the Cosy Cone start to loom in the distance. Karasuno Springs is as poorly lit as ever in the dark, and, not for the first time, Kageyama starts to wonder why one of Hinata’s many jobs wasn’t getting the poor street lighting fixed.

The Porsche lowers into a soft rumble instead of a roar as Hinata guides his car up the driveway of the Cosy Cone and idles in front of Kageyama’s cone.

The air in the car is once again awkward and strange and Kageyama clambers out without another word, shutting the door behind him softly. He’s just rounded the Cayman and fished the keys to his room out of his pocket when he turns to look over his shoulder. At the stars above, still breathtaking in their number, and at Hinata, who is looking in his rearview mirror, getting ready to reverse back onto the main road.

As if compelled, Kageyama strides forward until he’s level with the driver’s side of the Porsche, leans down and raps his knuckles neatly against the window.

Inside, Hinata jolts, startled, but he rolls down his window regardless, peering up at Kageyama with curious big brown eyes.

“Thank-you,” Kageyama says softly. _For saying I was good enough_. “For showing me the stars.”

The other man gapes at him briefly, shocked, before it melts into a gentle, incredibly warm smile. It warms his eyes and melts away all those tense lines from earlier and Kageyama feels a little thrill of satisfaction at the sight of it.

_Yes. That was better._

“You’re welcome,” Hinata intones, just as soft. “Goodnight Kageyama.”

“Goodnight,” Kageyama murmurs back and straightens, awkwardly lifting one hand, the other still curled tightly around his room key, as the handyman reverses neatly off the driveway. He gets one more smile in his direction, before the Porsche is turning and rolling away into the night, until all Kageyama can see and hear is the gleam of its rear spoiler, the twin spots of light from its rear and the gentle rumble of the engine.

* * *

The next morning, Kageyama has to forcibly snooze the traffic cone shaped alarm clock on the nightstand next to him three times, he’s so comfortable.

It could be because he’s spent the last several nights sleeping in a truck cab and a prison cell bunk, but right now his bed in the Cosy Cone is quite possibly the comfiest thing he’s ever slept in. It’s only when, in his dozing state, he starts having eerie dreams of the tractor-with-a-scoop monstrosity that Hinata had provided getting the Dinoco sponsorship that he finally switches off the alarm next to him and sits up in bed.

Slipping from the warm sheets and disappearing into the en suite shower was nothing short of Heaven, and Kageyama spends several minutes just standing under the spray in a happy, warm daze.

He finally extracts himself once the tendrils of sleep have started to recede and the gnawing of hunger in his stomach becomes too loud to ignore. Pulling on his stupid traffic sign jeans and a new shirt (this one has a picture of the nearby mountain ranges, which would be nice, if it wasn’t the bright, pop art style used that made his eyes burn) he exits his room, locking the door behind him with a wide yawn.

“Good morning!”

Turning, he finds Shimizu standing in front of the office across the driveway, apparently unlocking the building and starting her day. “Did you sleep well?”

“I… yes,” Kageyama replies, pausing to clear the roughness in his voice. “It was great. Everything was great.”

Shimizu smiles at him, wide and happy, the early morning sunlight glinting off of her glasses. “I’m glad! Well, you know where I am if you need anything.”

Kageyama nods his gratitude and continues walking across the forecourt of the Cosy Cone, until he’s crossing the street and heading into The V8 Café for a much needed breakfast.

There’s the usual scattering of townspeople inside, and when Kageyama heads up to the bar to place his order with Sugawara there’s a very tall man sitting on one of the stools, tucking into a small tower of pancakes. Kageyama regards him out of the corner of his eye while he waits for Sugawara, who’s delivering plates of food to the town’s lawyer and a companion – a nondescript man with freckles.

“Are you Asahi?” He asks finally, deciding the other man could fit the bill – he was very big and very broad, and seemed to be doing his best to hunch over his meal and come across unnoticed.

The other man jumps and nearly sends his breakfast to the floor. “Y-yes!” He replies, looking up at Kageyama with wide eyes.

Kageyama hums with interest, before leaning in close. Asahi looks like he wants to lean back, but is too nervous to do so. “Do you know who Dinoco are?” He asks, conspiratorially.

Asahi blinks at him. “Yes…?” He says, looking baffled. “They’re into racing cars, right?”

A swing and a miss, but he’s not entirely wrong, Kageyama supposes and with a nod of satisfaction he leans back away from the larger man, who sighs with relief. He’s a little concerned that Asahi is supposed to be the town’s fire safety officer, considering how jumpy he is despite his rugged appearance, but he pushes the thought from his mind swiftly. He’d only wanted to see if Hinata was right, after all.

“Morning Kageyama!” Sugawara sings as he rounds the bar, “Something quick and light, right?”

“Please,” Kageyama confirms.

“Sure thing. Daichi already came by earlier, I think he’s getting your car filled, so you should be all good to go to the track once you’re done here.”

“Oh,” Kageyama says, taken aback by the thoughtfulness. It was true that yesterday morning he and Daichi had taken a fuel can to the impound to fill his tank there before they went to Willy’s Butte together, but he hadn’t expected the policeman to do so again this morning. He hadn’t even expected to go to the track again, sort of figuring in his mind he’d get a start on paving and go as and when he ran out of asphalt. But now the opportunity has arisen again he can’t deny that he really wants to go.

Freedom calls loudly, but so does winning a re-match.

A part of him suddenly feels a little guilty – while he was certainly grateful he could have another go around the track, he wonders if maybe the town’s only policeman had something better to do rather than watch him do so. He digs a nail into grooves of the bar and frowns, mouth pursing in a pout.

“Don’t look so troubled,” Sugawara says, plucking Asahi’s empty plate off of the countertop. “I think watching you hurtle around that track is the most entertainment Daichi’s had in weeks.”

“I can watch the town while he’s there,” Asahi pipes up, seemingly more at ease now, “and Daichi wouldn’t do it if he didn’t want to.”

Kageyama blinks at them both, vaguely stunned once again by the simple kindness that seems to come so naturally to everyone in Karasuno Springs (the lawyer notwithstanding.)

He’s not sure what it is, whether it was the relaxed lifestyle they all led or that they were all older, with Hinata as the only exception – but they all seemed perfectly willing to be friendly and accepting. It didn’t seem to matter that he was a stranger, who was only _promising_ to pay them for their services at that, or that he’d torn up the road. And it’s all so genuine that Kageyama isn’t sure how to handle it. In his line of work, most friendly encounters were just openers to business deals.

He struggles to force his tongue to form any words, any at all, to try and voice of all this, but in the end he gives up. Sugawara seems to understand, however, giving Kageyama a warm smile before spinning away to the kitchen to make him his breakfast order.

Asahi turns out to be rather chatty, once the initial bolt of shyness had worn of, and he asks Kageyama polite questions about racing as he nurses a cup of coffee. Kageyama answers them dutifully, before he’s blurting out a question of his own on what the biggest fire Asahi had ever had to put out was. The bigger man blinks in surprise before laughing, and then regals Kageyama with a short tale of how Nishinoya had accidentally set his tyre tower on fire after using one too many lights to decorate it one year.

The story takes him through breakfast, which Sugawara brings out swiftly, and just as Asahi is finishing describing the awful smell of burning rubber, the café’s door swings open and Daichi pokes his head through to call for Kageyama.

* * *

In the end, practice on Willy’s Butte wasn’t any more successful or fruitful than it had been yesterday.

Initially, he’d retried everything he’d done before, trying to work through the feeling of sliding, but after several spins, he stopped.

He sits there for several minutes, glaring holes into his steering wheel, before he sighs and tries to remember Hinata’s ‘advice’.

Slingshotting himself around the hard dirt slope just seemed like the route of a madman, and Kageyama dismisses the idea immediately. He needed to get his Corvette to the International Speedway in one piece, not in chunks if his car decided travelling at an angle on rough terrain was too much for it. So, he settles for trying for more speed, which was one thing Hinata had recommended that Kageyama could actually do. Speed was, after all, his forte.

He manages to hurtle around turns one and two faster than before, but as he quickly comes upon turn three at almost full speed, he finds his foot twitching over the brake pedal.

_You can’t brake. Just drive it with the throttle._

He makes it up until the very last moment before instinct takes over and he stomps down on the brake.

Immediately, the Stingray starts to slide beneath him and Kageyama grits his teeth.

_If you’re going hard enough left, you’ll find yourself turning right._

Okay then…

Kageyama wrenches wheel to turn his tyres to the right. It’s a left-hand turn, so if Hinata’s ‘theory’ works, he should now start to slide over to the left.

There’s a small cloud of red dust and dirt, the crunch of gravel and crushed plants and a stream of loud and vicious swearing, as Kageyama’s Corvette obediently swings straight to the right and plows right into a mound of dirt.

(“I thought Hinata gave you tips,” Daichi says later, once he’d helped Kageyama shove his car back out of the sandbank.

“Hinata gave me self-sabotage,” Kageyama spits back darkly.)

He throws in the towel for the day after that, and follows Daichi’s police car back to town with a thundercloud over his head as he tries his best not to sulk. The longer he takes to get this, the longer he has to wait before he can challenge Hinata to a proper rematch.

Speaking of - the handyman didn’t turn up again like he did before during the whole practice session, not even to gloat, and Kageyama had absolutely no idea how to feel about that.

The rest of the morning passes in what seemed to be Kageyama’s new normal – sitting in Bessie, laying tarmac, watching the world roll by agonisingly slowly.

Eventually, stomach grumbles and the never ending beat of the overhead sun draw him out, and after a short break, he finds himself walking a small circle around Bessie, stretching out his aching legs. He’s used to sitting in his car for long periods, but Bessie’s cab was a whole new world of cramped.

He’s just trying to dip into a crouch, to stretch his muscles out further, when he feels his back bump against something solid and warm with ridges. Spinning around, he has just enough time to see it was tyre propped up outside Nishinoya’s store in a new advertisement before the wheel tips out of its holder, and starts rolling away.

Kageyama blinks and watches it, expecting it to wobble and fall over almost immediately, but it doesn’t. Instead, it starts to pick up speed as momentum grabs at it. “Oh fuck,” he sighs, and starts to give chase.

“Stop, stop, _stop_ ,” Kageyama pants as the tyre rolls its way like a runaway mine train across the street. It bounces over the new paving and over to the other side, always spinning just out of reach of Kageyama’s fingertips. He just manages to graze the rubber with one particularly bold launch, but all it does is alter the tyre’s course, sending it curving sharply past Tanaka’s body shop.

Kageyama watches with wide eyes, legs still stretched spread-eagled, as the tyre rolls past the shop and straight into an open door of an old, ramshackle building. There’s a muffled bump, and then a small cacophony of clangs and crashes and Kageyama winces mightily at the noise.

“Shit, _shit_ ,” he mutters as he scampers across the road to the building.

It’s small and almost hidden, dwarfed as it was by Tanaka’s much larger shop. It resembles a small garage, mostly, with corrugated steel doors that seemed to normally be held together by rope – except the knot was undone, leaving one door gaping open. Curiously, there’s a rough, hand painted sign nailed to the other door which just says _‘dangerous tools – stay out’_ and nothing else.

Kageyama flexes a hand in and out of a fist nervously and tosses a glance over his shoulder. He doesn’t want to intrude and get into trouble with whoever owns the building (Tanaka perhaps, as he’s next door?) But also he doesn’t want to leave the almost certain mess that’s inside and piss them off that way. He’s only just started to feel comfortable with everyone, he doesn’t want to ruin it all now.

Surely he can just sneak in, pull the tyre out, and tidy up whatever mess he’d made quickly and leave. No-one would ever have to know.

Steeling himself, he glances around once more to make sure nobody was nearby, before pulling open the steel doors just a little wider so he could slip through.

The inside of the building reveals itself to be a sort of… work shed.

There’s no lighting overhead – just sunlight streaming in through dusty windows, sending sunbeams at odd angles across the floor and the contents inside. Drops of dust hover in the light, but other than that, the whole place seems relatively orderly. There’s a whole wall of shelves with various tools and equipment and materials. Boxes of nails and screws take up most of one shelf, along with a vast array of screwdrivers and spanners. There are more boxes everywhere across the floor, some labelled, some not, almost all of them sealed.

The tyre sits at the far end of the shed, on its side, with an upturned ladder and several buckets strewn across the floor beside it. _Guess that’s the source of the noise_ , Kageyama thinks to himself as he trots over and rights the ladder, propping it up against the wall. He thinks the buckets may have been hanging from it, but with no way to tell, he opts to stack them inside of each other and push the little pile by the foot of the ladder.

Righting the tyre, he’s just about to roll it back out, when something in another corner of the shed catches his eye.

More tyres, at least four, stacked up neatly, with clumps of old dirt clinging to them – pale and crusting. Curious, Kageyama lowers the runaway tyre back down to the floor and wanders over.

Each tyre has _‘dirt track racer’_ printed across their walls in faded red paint, and Kageyama rubs his fingers across them thoughtfully before, slowly, the lightbulb goes off in his head.

Tools. Equipment. _Racing tyres._

This was Hinata’s shed.

Heartrate suddenly kicking up a gear, Kageyama straightens up and turns in a full circle to take in the full scope of the shed. Now he knows it belongs to Hinata, suddenly the space becomes a lot more interesting. Worries of being caught are pushed from his mind in favour of curiosity as he looks around him, taking everything in.

Aside from the wall of shelves, the boxes, and the tyres in the corner, the only other thing of note is an old desk, shoved against the wall opposite to shelves. Heart thumping, Kageyama crosses over to it.

It’s cluttered – with books and papers and envelopes, strewn across the surface haphazardly. The desk has no drawers, and there’s no chair to sit on, but there is a small shelf directly above, with more books and small boxes littered across it. Intrigue wins out, and Kageyama reaches over to pull on the cord of the lone desk lamp sitting in the corner, clicking on the light.

Illuminated, most of the books reveal themselves to be manuals. There’s plenty on workmanship, which made sense, considering Hinata’s job, but most of them are on cars. There’s at least three on Porsches, naturally, but a few on other makes and a sizeable collection on _racing_ – on its history, on theory, racer bibliographies, the lot. They line the shelf and scatter across the desk surface, all in various states of wear and tear.

The most well-read appears to be a book on Porsches, old, much older than the model Hinata owns. Its cover is faded and the pages crinkled and there hundreds of little tabs sticking out where Hinata has marked the pages. Reaching out, Kageyama plucks the book off the desk to turn it over in his hands, a spark of fondness spreading through him.

He’d done the same thing, when he picked his first car with his grandfather – bought a book and read it so many times over the pages fell free from the spine.

He’s about to replace it, when the object that was beneath it stops him dead.

It’s a photo, featuring two people and a gleaming yellow Porsche Cayman.

One of them is a man Kageyama doesn’t recognise – older, overweight, in a cheap suit and looking smug, shaking hands with the other man in the photo.

The other man is Hinata.

And he’s dressed in a race suit – pale green, with a variety of logos on it that Kageyama doesn’t recognise and a large one across he’s chest that he does. Vitoline, a known sponsor on the racing circuit. Pretty well respected in terms of their racers, but also known for firing and hiring new ones at the drop of a hat, always looking for the next best thing to beat Dinoco.

Frowning, Kageyama gently puts down the book he’s holding and lifts the photo, holding it up close for examination.

“You were a racer…?” He murmurs, enthralled.

Not just a dirt track hobbyist in his free time, it seems.

He turns the photograph this way and that, almost idly, as though if he tilts it enough the story within will play out before his eyes. Then a snatch of writing on the underside catches his attention and he flips the photo over fully, letting out an intrigued noise.

_Hinata Shouyou, Vitoline 400, July 24 th_

The handwriting doesn’t seem to be Hinata’s (judging by the scrawl on the various bits of paper scattered around his was far messier) so a secretary’s perhaps, or an assistant. The Vitoline 400 was a self-sponsored race in a minor league below the Piston Cup’s – a common way for them to try out their new racer before placing them in bigger tournaments. Kageyama frowns as he tries to place the year – he’d been in the leagues just below the Piston Cup for the past three years and he couldn’t remember seeing Hinata anywhere, and unless the other man had incredible skin, he was fairly sure they were the same age.

He taps the photo against his fingers idly as he tries to place the date, eyes roving over the words written on the back again and again, until they’re eventually drawn back to the name.

Hinata _Shouyou._

He vaguely remembers someone else – Nishinoya perhaps – saying that name out loud.

All this time, and he never really knew the other man’s given name.

“The sign says stay out.”

The photo nearly slips from Kageyama’s fingers as he jolts in shock and spins in place.

There’s a man in the doorway, framed by sunlight so he appears shadowy, but not dark enough to hide his disapproving frown or folded arms.

“Doesn’t that apply to you as well?” Kageyama mutters in annoyance in lieu of an apology, and he places the photo back in its place on the desk.

Tsukishima tilts his head at him, smiling, but there’s no warmth there. “Hinata may be a forgiving person, but that might not extend to snooping around in his private belongings,” he says, and there’s an infuriating lilt to his otherwise calm voice. “I mean, what other reason do you have to be in here?”

“Runaway tyre,” Kageyama snips back, once again lifting the tyre he had been chasing and righting it, starting to roll it slowly back to the door. “Thought I’d fetch it.”

“And have a rummage through someone else’s desk while you were at it.”

“I was looking at the books on racing. You know, shared interests.”

“Has it possibly occurred to you that Hinata might not have wanted you to know all of this?” Tsukishima questions, gesturing lightly at the desk.

“If Hinata didn’t want people to know he used to race he wouldn’t leave racing equipment lying around in a shed,” Kageyama snaps. The tyre he’s rolling almost bumps up against Tsukishima’s legs, but the lawyer takes a neat step backwards.

“Is that what you think?” Tsukishima asks, and the smile drops in favour of something more piercing. More inquisitive. “It’s only been three days, and you know him so well already?”

Kageyama pauses, and has to viscerally fight down the urge to slam the tyre he’s holding into the lawyer’s shins.

No, no he doesn’t know Hinata that well at all. The other man is as much of a question mark as he was when he leapt down from Bessie. But Kageyama is a racer, and he sees it all in the redhead as well. Those books on racing weren’t dusty or badly kept – they were neat, on shelves, spread around on a desk as though recently leafed through. The photo wasn’t even that hidden, it was basically in plain sight. A quick glance at the boxes on the floor reveals some of their labels to hold racing equipment inside, not tools.

If Hinata was so ashamed, why keep it in his _work shed?_ Why keep any of it at all?

The only real question Kageyama had is the still the same one he had from the beginning, only with more factors to it:

Why is Hinata in Karasuno Springs?

“Do _you?_ ” Kageyama replies, holding Tsukishima’s cold golden gaze. “Tell me, if someone is so content to play handyman and race on dirt tracks for fun, why is it that that Porsche is kept rigged for racing on asphalt, and not dirt?”

Tsukishima frowns at him, and says nothing.

“You’re not a racer, so you probably never even noticed. I’m sure he modifies it for a competition, throws those tyres there in the back back on.” Kageyama throws a thumb over his shoulder, “But he keeps road racing tyres on it at all times otherwise, and that chassis is altered but overall it’s still far too low to handle an uneven surface properly. And who races a _Porsche_ on _dirt?_ ”

“You listen to me,” Tsukishima says harshly, reaching out to grab the tyre and manoeuvre it so he can lean down close into Kageyama’s space. “Stay out of other people’s business, and keep your precious racing to yourself. And think about this: if you’re so right, and Hinata’s still a part of your world, why hasn’t he told you? Why keep it all in a work shed where no-one can see, only him?” He stands to the side and gestures out wide, “I suggest you leave. Now. Before he finds you.”

Kageyama snarls and hefts the tyre bodily over his shoulder, making sure to smudge Tsukishima’s suit with the dirt on it as he shoves his way past.

* * *

“Kageyama?”

Kageyama jolts in his seat, and blinks up, surprised, at the person who called his name.

Sugawara is frowning at him as he slides a plate of fresh bacon and eggs across the counter towards him. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah,” Kageyama mumbles back, straightening up in his seat, reaching for his fork to tuck into his breakfast.

The rest of yesterday had passed in much the same fare as before – long hours sitting Bessie, watching the life in the town go by with the occasional interruption from one of the townsfolk, until it was time for dinner and then to bed. He’d seen Hinata a few times, bustling around here and there, though the handyman had seemed too busy to stop and chat. In fact, aside from a couple of waves and the odd smile, he hadn’t interacted with the other man at all yesterday.

Tsukishima may have told Hinata about his trespass into the work shed, he had no real way of knowing, but he doesn’t think so. He can imagine the fire he’d have to endure if Hinata found out and was truly angry with him – there’s no way he wouldn’t be able to say something, the other man seemed almost incapable of biting his tongue.

So, with nothing else to think about as tarmac dripped from Bessie and the town crawled by as usual, Kageyama found himself caught up in thinking about the shed. Over and over, and the photo, and everything the lawyer had said… it was maddening, he’d never felt the need to know something about another person before.

“Are you sure something isn’t troubling you?” Sugawara pipes up again, as Kageyama spends more time shuffling a ration of bacon around his plate rather than eating it.

The café is a little quieter this morning – mostly due to Tanaka and Nishinoya’s absence – and Kageyama shuffles on his bar stool. The question feels impossibly loud without a suitable level of background chatter to drown it out.

“I’m fine,” Kageyama insists, and stuffs the bacon in his mouth.

Sugawara’s brow is still creased with concern, but the older man seems content to leave it, turning to collect an empty plate and mug from a man with a neat dark hair in a side parting. He’s just about to swivel in the direction of the kitchen when Kageyama swallows his food and finds his voice, a thought popping into his mind.

“Actually…” He starts to say, haltingly, and Sugawara turns back towards him. “Did Hinata used to race properly?” He winces. Corrects himself. “ _Ah_ , on asphalt tracks, I mean.”

“Hinata?” Sugawara repeats, baffled. “Like, professionally?”

Kageyama nods. Tsukishima’s words from yesterday float in his mind like oil slick on water.

“I don’t think so?” Sugawara finally replies, after tilting his head momentarily in thought. “I know he’s got the car for it, and he’s certainly passionate enough, but as far I as I know he’s just done the competitions around here. Why do you ask?”

“Just a feeling I had,” Kageyama mumbles, ducking his head back down to glare down at his pile of scrambled eggs. It infuriates him that the lawyer might have been right.

His furious thoughts are halted by the doors to the café swinging open, and the low murmur of townspeople wishing the newcomer a good morning.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Sugawara says with a smile in his voice, and Kageyama’s head snaps back up again.

Indeed, there’s Hinata, bouncing through the door with Daichi at his heels. The handyman isn’t wearing his usual black and orange overalls today, instead he’s wearing a simple of pair of jeans and yet another meat-themed t-shirt (apparently he just has a collection of them.)

“You’re going to the track to skid off turn three for the millionth time, right?” Hinata chirps when he reaches them, and Kageyama resists to urge to lob his mug of coffee at him, as they are currently in the presence of a police officer, instead grunting his confirmation.

“Well scrap that,” Hinata says, and when Kageyama blinks blankly at him in confusion, there’s a slight wobble to the smile there before he says, softer and with slightly less exuberance: “Let’s take a drive.”

“A… drive?” Kageyama repeats, confused.

“Yeah, a drive. What, don’t you big city racers ever just… go for a drive?”

“I… no. No, not really,” Kageyama mumbles.

“This isn’t exactly what I thought you had in mind when you asked me to bring all that fuel to Kageyama’s car, Hinata,” Daichi pipes up from behind the redhead. There’s a slight disapproving tone to his voice that sends Kageyama’s stomach flipping nervously. Fuel? A drive? He’s so confused. “I thought you were going to go racing with him.”

“I am! Sort of,” Hinata replies, his bounce returning. “Come on, it’s just a drive. You trust me right?”

“I trust _you_ just fine,” Daichi grumbles, and Kageyama’s stomach stops flipping in favour of shrivelling up miserably. The implication is, of course, that _he’s_ not to be trusted at all, and while he supposes he’s given the policeman no reason to think otherwise, it still stings.

Daichi is silent for a moment, holding Hinata’s excited gaze, before he sighs deeply and steps around him, fishing around his belt loop for the wad of keys hanging there. He picks one off and walks up to Kageyama, holding it out.

It’s Kageyama’s car key.

“If I find out you’ve driven off, I _will_ have Hinata chase you,” Daichi warns, though the stern look on his face is somewhat ruined by the smile playing around his lips. Behind him, Hinata cheers.

Feeling a little numb, Kageyama reaches out and plucks his key out of Daichi’s grasp. “Okay,” he says, unable to form a complete sentence. He’s gone from suddenly feeling untrusted to having his car returned with, apparently, a full tank. Even with the threat of Hinata chasing him, there’s still every chance he could run, and get away with it. He rolls his key over in his palm and swallows. He could, if he wanted, follow Hinata to the impound, get in his car, and then take him by surprise and gun it. Get to the International Speedway, with nothing but the open road in his way.

Then he lifts his gaze and meets warm brown, as Hinata tilts his head at him, looking almost inpatient, and the thoughts evaporate immediately.

“A drive?” He asks again.

“Yeah, just a drive. Don’t you ever just wanna take your car out and _drive?”_

“Yes,” Kageyama says, immediately, because he does, all the time. He just never gets the chance.

“Well then what are you still sitting around there for?”

Kageyama thinks of the work shed. Of the books and the equipment and the photograph. Of the questions. He thinks of Hinata – a sparkplug out in the desert, who made more sense to him in some ways than anyone else he’d ever met, and simultaneously made no sense at all. He thinks of their cars, on the open road, and smirks, and drops down from his stool.

“Let’s go.”


	6. Let's Take a Drive

Kageyama stares at the stretch of open road before him.

Bizarrely, Hinata had left him all alone once they got to the impound where his car was kept. The handyman had gone to fetch his own, with the only instruction being to fire up his engine and wait for his return.

So now he sits here, with a full tank of gas, idling by the entrance to Karasuno Springs, with literally nothing to stop him making a bolt for freedom.

And yet, the longer he thinks of the International Speedway, of Dinoco, of the track, all of it, the more he can’t bring himself to flatten his accelerator and gun it. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to go, because he does. He aches for the chance to return to what he knows, but, paradoxically, he also yearns to stop time. Put a pause on it all, so he can spend more time _here._

He wants to go on the drive with Hinata. He wants to practice that turn. And he wants to beat him in a race.

He doesn’t think he can do all of that in two days.

And, as he glances in his rearview mirror when the distant roar of the Porsche’s engine reaches his ears, he can’t bring himself to leave the road. The part of him that was shouting, when he first arrived, to have someone else do it as long he paid them, is now small and meek. He can’t leave the job unfinished, not with how everyone had been treating him. It’d feel like betrayal.

“So you didn’t run!” Hinata hollers through his open windows when he rolls up beside Kageyama.

“Did you think I would?” Kageyama shouts back, moodily.

“Nah,” Hinata grins, and Kageyama notes that he’s got those stupid sunglasses back on again. “Though it wouldn’t matter if you did, I’m sure I’d find you going in circles in the desert sooner or later.”

“I’m not… I have _some_ sense of direction,” Kageyama protests, but it’s weak. He’s a little too warm from Hinata’s casual confidence that he wouldn’t just bolt.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Hinata replies airily, and then he’s rolling away before Kageyama can reply with nothing more than a “come on!”

At first, Kageyama thinks he’s going to go on the long skinny road that leads out of Karasuno Springs and eventually rejoins the highway, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns around and heads back up the main thoroughfare, past the businesses and the courthouse at the end, to join a road that leads from the back end of the town up towards the mountains.

The road is quiet and, with ample space enough for two cars to travel beside each other, Kageyama feels safe enough to pull up parallel besides Hinata. He doubts anyone will be coming the other way any time soon.

“Where are we going?” He shouts.

“Hmmm… dunno yet!” Is the reply, and before Kageyama can react, the Porsche growls and springs away, zooming off into the distance in a streak of sunshine yellow.

“Dick,” Kageyama smirks, and floors it.

The road they’re travelling on gets wider as they go, fat and old, but it’s also buttery smooth, draped across the ground for them to glide along. At first, the only thing that surrounds them is desert – seemingly endless stretches of red-brown sand and tufts of cacti with only the mountains in the distance. And then, as the rock behemoths draw closer, there’s a tree, then two, then five, then bunches of them, until a small forest springs up seemingly out of nowhere. Kageyama blinks in awe, surprised by the sudden burst of nature.

The Porsche ahead of him gleams like a beacon of sunshine in amongst the trees, swerving and gliding around the corners as the road bends. Kageyama grins and increases his speed, until he’s nudging ahead, only for the nose of the Cayman to inch further forwards. They continue like this, swapping places as they drive, as the trees give way on side to reveal a tiny lake, sparkling in the dappled sunlight streaming in through the trees.

Then the trees start to thin entirely, and Kageyama finds himself lagging back behind Hinata’s Porsche as the forest falls away to reveal a towering red mountain, looming right above them. They had seemed so far away before, and now here they were, right at their feet. The road starts to twist upwards, following the land as it slopes up towards the mountain peak.

_“Don’t you ever just wanna take your car out and drive?”_

Hinata’s words float in his mind as they pass underneath a huge, natural archway of deep red rock that arcs above the road. There’s rock formations on all sides now, twisted and smooth from water passing across them in years gone by. These days, it seems it’s dwindled down to a small river that pops up occasionally by the side of the road when the walls of rock drop away. The road looks to have been laid wherever the land permits it – wherever the rocks gape and allow them through, no compromises to be had.

They pass under another arch, larger, wider, and Kageyama’s jaw drops when they emerge out the other side.

He’s starting to see why Hinata enjoys this so much.

Directly opposite, pouring out from an opening in the mountain face, is a huge waterfall. It thunders down the rock, so heavy and fast the spray mists in the air, with small rainbows appearing when the light hits just so. The road curves steeply, hugging the mountain and keeping away from the drop to the river below, which surges onward, onward to fill the plethora of smaller rivers and lakes they’d passed on their way here.

Dragging his eyes down the waterfall, Kageyama spots a bridge, small with classic arches that links the gap between the mountain roads directly in front of the waterfall. The spray is heaviest here, but still light enough to see through, and it sparkles in the sunlight as it mists over the gleaming sunbeam of Hinata’s Porsche.

Maybe Hinata has reduced his speed to a cruise, or maybe time itself has simply slowed down, but Kageyama finds himself staring openly at the other man as he glides across the bridge.

Hinata’s pushed his sunglasses up until they’re nestled in his hair – which shines brighter than ever in the overhead sun, lightly sprinkled with droplets from the rainfall. He’s only got one hand on his steering wheel, his other dangling out of the car as he rests his elbow through the open window on his car door. He looks, for the first time since Kageyama met him, perfectly relaxed. Not teasing, or concentrating, burning with either happiness or anger. Calm and serene, like everything for once is at peace.

Kageyama swallows thickly, tries to remember how to make his lungs expand and his heart beat in rhythm, and then Hinata turns his head from the road to catch his eye. Brown eyes practically sparkle at him as the handyman beams at him, all teeth and warmth, and Kageyama does the one thing he’s not supposed to do – which is try and smile back.

(His smiles are never great when summoned on command. He catches a glimpse on himself in his wing mirror and shudders, immediately letting it drop.)

But Hinata just smiles wider, lets his eyes drop closed as his head tips back in laughter.

Kageyama watches this man. This question mark of a person, in a gorgeous car under a beautiful waterfall, laugh brightly and freely and, quite simply, forgets how to breathe.

And then time seems to speed back up all at once and Hinata is refocusing on the read ahead of him, and then the Porsche is streaking away.

The compulsion to win restarts his body, and Kageyama floors it, zooming straight across the bridge and blinking the water spray from his eyes in order to catch up.

With the waterfall falling away behind them, the mountain road really starts to curve upwards, draped across the rock face in loops of tarmac. No part of it was straight – it curved steeply and gently in equal measure, curling up in a wonderful, dizzying loop. With nowhere else to go but up, it quickly becomes a playful race.

_Your turns don’t stick right._

Kageyama still remembers those words. Well, now it was time to show Hinata that he could corner just fine.

His Stingray roars as it sweeps around the outside of the Cayman, in a perfect overtake, sprinting onwards. But his victory is short-lived, because as soon as he tilts to take the next corner, when the road bends, the Porsche slips alongside him, sweeping in through on the inside, taking the corner so sharply Kageyama’s jaw drops for the second time that day. That was a _hairpin_ turn, and Hinata had not only swept around it perfectly, he’d done at the tightest angle possible.

“How’d you do that?” He calls as they climb, bewilderment overtaking his despair at being overtaken, temporarily.

“Handbrake!” Hinata hollers back, and Kageyama hums thoughtfully.

He’s not bold enough to try it for the next couple of turns, content to show Hinata that yes, he can overtake too, with sheer speed and masterful understanding of the slipstream. But then, as Hinata sails around him again on the outside so sharply Kageyama’s worried he might simply fall of the cliff, the Porsche’s rear end drifting at an angle, he reconsiders. The handyman catches his eye, and winks, and just as he rounds the turn, he achieves the better angle to take off from, leaping in front of Kageyama immediately as the road starts to straighten out.

That Porsche may not be as fast as his Corvette, but god if Hinata didn’t know how to handle it.

“You’re still a racer,” Kageyama murmurs to himself as he readies himself for the next corner. “Not _used_ to be – _are.”_

He yanks his handbrake lever to try and take the next corner tight, like Hinata did, only for his car to shriek and waver as it grinds to a halt a little too fast.

“Nearly!” Hinata shouts back, from up ahead. “I’ll add that to the list of things I need to teach you, shall I?”

“Cocky little shit,” Kageyama grumbles, but he can’t stop himself from smiling.

The road starts to level after a couple more twists, until it’s a gentle incline up the side of the mountain, soft and swerving. Kageyama grins, now _this_ is his element. He lets his car drift behind Hinata’s perfectly, and then guns it, slipping right up close, just to sail on past with no effort. He snickers at Hinata’s indignant squawk, and continues along the road.

A few times, Hinata tries to overtake, but Kageyama spots him in his mirrors (he could he not? The Porsche is _so_ yellow) and blocks him every time, smirking. Twice, he lets Hinata slip past on purpose, only to overtake him in the same way. This has always been his speciality – overtaking with pure, unfiltered speed. Be faster than anyone else, and you’ll be untouchable.

Unless… it was a corner, he has to admit. Hinata definitely has him over a barrel, there. But there are no corners on this stretch of road, just soft waves and a slow climb. He looks in his rearview mirror to spot Hinata behind, glowering at him furiously over his steering wheel, cheeks red with frustration and he _laughs_ , bright and happy.

This is _fun._

This is more enjoyable than his whole debut season in the Piston Cup, and all it is is two cars on a country road.

The thought sobers him, and he slows – Hinata zooms by immediately, only to cotton on and then hang back – and he gazes down at his steering wheel, grin dimming to small smile. Driving is fun. In all the pressure of winning, he’d almost forgotten it.

“We’re nearly there!” Hinata calls by his side, now back to relaxing in his seat with one arm out the window as they cruise side-by-side.

“Nearly where?” Kageyama shouts back, but he gets no response, just an uptick of eyebrows and a sunny grin.

The Porsche slips in front again, not racing, just a beacon to follow, and Kageyama settles back into his seat as well, content to watch the car ahead and see where it takes him.

On and on the road goes, sloping up higher and higher into the sky, until eventually, it stops.

* * *

The mountain road ends in a wide, flat cliff overlooking the world below.

Kageyama tilts his head in confusion as his Corvette rumbles to a stop. Well, they’ve run out of road – what now? Turn around and go back?

And then he spots Hinata’s Porsche, sitting in the middle of the clifftop, and there’s a soft clunk and swish as the driver’s door swings open. Hinata levers himself out and slams the door behind him, stuffing his hands in his pockets and gazing up the cliff face.

The platform they’re on is large and smooth, on one side a sheer drop to the ground below and on the other, a rugged, huge cliff face that makes up the rest of the mountain. Intrigued, Kageyama shifts his car into park and clambers out as well, wandering over to where Hinata is standing. The rocks and dirt around them and beneath their feet are the same red as the sand back in town, only richer, as if deepened by being constantly bathed in sunlight. He kicks the loose pebbles beneath his boot idly, watching them skip across the ground.

Then he raises his head to look at what Hinata is so fascinated by, at whatever he felt the need to take Kageyama all the way out here for, and frowns mightily.

It’s a very old, very much abandoned building, built right into the cliff face.

There’s a massive arch, made of smooth sandstone, that arcs from one end of the platform all the way to the other. There are words upon it, made out of rusting metal, but still shining in the sun - _Wheel Well Motel._ The arch separates the rock of the mountain from the collection of buildings below, which is arranged in a layout similar to the Cosy Cone’s. There’s a small, ramshackle building in the very middle, so dirty and worn it’s almost impossible to tell what it could’ve been for. Then there was a bigger structure just behind that, with huge windows and large empty space inside. A few gas pumps, all broken and surrounded by flies, scatter the courtyard, along with what looks like remnants of old furniture.

“What… is this place?” Kageyama asks, vaguely disgusted.

“Wheel Well,” Hinata says, and when Kageyama turns to look at him, he’s surprised to find the other man looks wistful. “Most popular place to stay, back in the day.”

“This place?” Kageyama intones, raising an eyebrow. It must have been _many_ days ago – the place looks like it’s been abandoned for years, if not decades.

Hinata doesn’t reply at first, instead walking forwards until he’s reached Wheel Well’s ginormous arch. It’s the only part of the building that still looks grand, and as the get closer, Kageyama has to admit building it would’ve been very impressive in its time.

Beyond the arch, there’s a semi-circle space, with what looks like rooms encircling the circumference and the large, open-style building right in the middle. Just like the Cosy Cone, only far dirtier. Hinata wanders forward and strolls along the open space, his gaze dragging over the cracked and dirty windows, the doors left open. Above them, there’s a huge slope of sheer rock, worn down smooth, that acts as a sort of roof. The space under the arch is wide enough that plenty of sunlight streams through, but towards the back where the rooms sit is shadowed and blessedly cool.

“Imagine what would’ve been like to stay here,” Hinata says, a touch of wonder to his voice.

Kageyama looks around them, confused. He supposes it could’ve been nice, at one point, when it was fresh and new, but it’s hard to imagine it with everything as derelict as it was. He returns his gaze back to Hinata, watching the other man stroll along quietly, before he blurts: “I don’t get you.”

“Huh?” Curious brown eyes swivel to look back at him over the handyman’s shoulder.

“You’re not from here,” Kageyama says, confidently, because he knows Hinata isn’t. “What’s a guy like you with a car like that doing all the way out in the middle of nowhere?”

Hinata watches him silently for a long moment, so long that Kageyama starts to worry he might’ve overstepped the mark. But even so, he holds his ground, holds that brown gaze and waits. All he’s gotten from Hinata himself is that the city isn’t all that great, and nothing else besides. Everything else, he’s heard from other people or found it in the memories contained in belongings.

He just wants to hear Hinata’s story.

Then, all at once, Hinata seems to melt, let his shoulders drop as he blows out a long breath and turns away from Kageyama so his face is hidden again. “I’m from the big city, not too far from that Speedway of yours, actually,” he starts to say, voice quiet.

Excited, Kageyama shuffles closer.

“I’ve been a handyman since… my mid-teens, I guess? I started picking up odd jobs, here and there, to help the neighbours and friends, and then as I started learning more I started doing more.” Hinata continues his slow stroll around Wheel Whell’s interior as he speaks, the ground crunching beneath his trainers. “My parents divorced shortly after my little sister was born, and my Dad moved to the other end of the country. They still got along great though – still do, actually – and my Dad earned enough that my Mum didn’t have to work.”

Hinata pauses here, just to swallow. “Which at first was because Natsu – my sister – was so tiny, but then it was because my mother was ill. Something to do with her central nervous system, I could never pronounce the name…” Another pause, as a hand ruffles through ginger waves, and then the words just start tumbling.

“I did fix-her-ups for the neighbourhood and for friends because I liked tinkering and fixing stuff, but soon I got good enough to take money for it. I set enough aside to buy more tools and instruction manuals, but everything else went to bills. We needed it – Mum… she got worse. She was in hospital a lot, had a lot of tests. Some of it was covered, a lot of it was really specialised and we had to pay. Dad’s wage covered our bills, but it was nowhere near enough for all of that, so… I stepped up. Worked around school, and then when I graduated, all the time I could when I wasn’t sleeping. It was worth it, though, because then we finally had a breakthrough and my Mum got so much better.” Hinata takes a moment to pause here, and as he rounds the bend towards the other side of Wheel Well, Kageyama can see a small smile on his face.

“She stopped needing to go to hospital, got her life back, but the busy city was a bit too much, so she moved in with my grandparents on the outskirts. Natsu, she was around twelve at that point, and was really getting into gymnastics, and she moved too. Went to live with our Dad, who happened to live near a school with a really good programme so she could train properly.” The small smile spreads into a grin, “She goes to national competitions now, outshines me every day. Anyway, once they both left, I suddenly… had more time. I still needed to work, I needed to work a _lot_ , to pay for everything, but suddenly with just me at home I had _time_.”

“Time you filled with racing?” Kageyama asks, breaking his silence.

“Mmhm. I’ve always loved it. Grew up watching only racing on tv… used to drive Natsu mad when she got old enough to know what the tv was. Got my licence as soon as I could, got this awful old Citroen off my friend as payment for a job. I couldn’t afford real race meets – I didn’t have the car, or the money, but as time went on I saved and saved. Worked so many jobs I was dizzy until I could buy her.” Hinata finishes his loop of Wheel Well, and stops just outside the huge, overhanging arch, to stand and gaze lovingly at his Porsche, gleaming in the sun. “I always wanted a Porsche… ended up doing a few jobs for the dealership to knock the price down so I could afford her. And then…”

Hinata trails off, clenches his jaw so hard Kageyama can see the muscles his neck contract. “I could race, but only sometimes, only when there was a free-to-enter meet, or one that was cheap, because all the professional meets required memberships or money I just didn’t have, after buying the car. I spent the year after I got my dream car working from dawn till dusk and driving till nightfall. It was like living in the fast lane and never getting off, just for that brief time when I could sit behind a steering wheel and drive. And you know what?”

“What?” Kageyama murmurs, and he looks down to find sad brown eyes.

“It was never… happy.”

“Yeah…” Kageyama sighs out, so quietly Hinata doesn’t even react. Living in the fast lane, only ever at peace when sitting behind the wheel of your car… god if he doesn’t know what that feels like.

“And one day, I just… left it all behind. Threw whatever I owned in the trunk, got in and _drove_. Not on the highway, I couldn’t stand it, felt too much like queueing. Went along all the country roads, for hours and hours until I ran out of fuel and broke down right here.” The sadness lifts here, and the smile returns to Hinata’s face, warm and fond. “The people at Karasuno Springs, they helped fix her up. Gave me a place to stay until I calmed down. I was such a mess at that point, strung out and just _tired._ I hadn’t had a day off in years. And all they ever did was have days off, it was like culture shock!”

“Okay…” Kageyama says, frowning as he follows along and tries to put all the pieces together in his head. “I can understand needing some time off, to relax and recuperate, but after… why didn’t you go back?”

_You had a racing opportunity. What happened at the Vitoline 400? Why are you still here?_

“I fell in love.”

Kageyama nearly trips over his own feet.

 _Fell in love?_ He thinks wildly, trying to do a mental rundown of everyone that lived in the town. Not that he wanted to sound judgemental, but everyone seemed a bit… _old_ for Hinata.

“Is it Tsukishima?” He asks eventually, trying to sound like he hasn’t just swallowed ten lemons.

Hinata spins to look at him, looking baffled for all of a second, before a manic, delighted grin is bursting over his face. Kageyama has just enough time to register that that was, maybe, a stupid question, before the handyman just doubles up in laughter.

“Oh _wow,”_ Hinata wheezes, his shoulders shaking with the force of his giggles as tries to wrestle himself back under control.

Kageyama contemplates getting back into his car and getting lost again. Surely it would be less embarrassing.

“N-not like _that_ , you doofus,” Hinata forces out, still snickering as Kageyama stands awkwardly in place and tries to ignore the heat in his cheeks. And then, without warning, the handyman reaches out and snags Kageyama’s wrist, striding forwards and tugging him along in his wake.

“H-hey, Hinata!” Kageyama protests weakly as he’s pulled, but doesn’t try to pull his arm free.

Hinata leads them to the edge of the cliff, where the rock drops down into a sheer wall, until they reach an old and rotting wooden fence that lines the perimeter. “I fell in love… with _this,”_ Hinata says simply, and nods down at the ground below.

Baffled, Kageyama frowns and follows his gaze, wondering what on Earth he could…

_Oh._

He hadn’t noticed, on the way up, what with the trees and the rise and fall of rock blocking the view, and he’d been so absorbed with the old motel and Hinata when they reached the top, but… the view is devastatingly beautiful.

What should be an arid, desolate place that bakes under the sun is now suddenly a rich canvas of warmth and colour. It isn’t just red, it’s brown and golden and everything in between – a tapestry of hills and valleys as the earth rises and falls in all directions. The mountains look almost small now, in the distance, and now he’s high up he can see the spots of green of tiny forests and drops of blue of small lakes. It’s all of nature, laid out before him underneath an endless, crystal blue sky.

And, if he peers hard enough, he can see the roads, long and skinny, draped across it all. They wind and curve, following the land where they can, snaking all around.

All of them are completely empty.

“There’s the town,” Hinata says softly, touching Kageyama’s elbow gently and pointing with his other hand.

Kageyama follows his pointer finger to where, indeed, Karasuno Springs is nestled, right in the heart of all of it.

“Where is everyone?” He finds himself asking. “All these roads… where are all the cars?”

Granted, he never knew roads like these existed himself until only an hour ago, but it seems unfathomable that nobody else would know. That scenery, the way the tarmac was draped across the land… it was all so stunning, how could nobody at all be driving on it?

“They’re all over there,” Hinata says, somewhat sadly, and his touch on Kageyama’s elbow becomes just a little firmer as he points over in another direction.

Off to the side, in what looks like a short distance, but what is probably actually several miles, is the highway. Long and wide and bloated, the two thick strips of road split the mountains, carving through the world like a bulldozer. They’re far away, but he can see the spots of the cars, trundling along in their lanes, hurrying to their destinations, oblivious to the beauty just beside them.

“They don’t even know what they’re missing,” Kageyama finds himself saying, irritated even though he doesn’t know why.

“Neither did you, until a couple of days ago,” Hinata says, though his tone isn’t snippy or combative. He just sounds sad. “And neither did I, until I deliberately avoided the highway.”

Kageyama is silent for a moment, frowning hard, as he sweeps his gaze across the landscape below. “The town is right in the middle,” he notes. He thinks back to Karasuno Springs’s main street, the shops that are closed and the businesses that are struggling. And then he turns his gaze back to the highway. "And everyone drives right by it.”

“Never used to be that way,” Hinata sighs. “Not that long ago, that highway didn’t even exist. You had to drive across those country roads to get to the city. Took longer, but… people weren’t in so much of a hurry back then, you know? They weren’t driving just to get somewhere, they were driving to _drive._ And then someone decided to shave off fifteen minutes of drive time and… here we are.”

“So where Karasuno Springs used to be a traveller’s beacon…”

“Is now ignored, in favour of _efficiency,”_ Hinata confirms, bitterly. “I was so angry, when I found out. And then I was even more angry by how not angry they were! They’re sad, sure, but they sit around with hope that dwindles and… acceptance, I think. Like their day has gone and all they can do is hope someone comes along once in a blue moon.”

Kageyama thinks of the townspeople, of their easy kindness and acceptance, and his stomach twists up tight and miserable. The feeling is awful, so he finds himself switching tack.

“So you fell in love,” He says, and tries not to bite his own tongue, “with… this?” He sweeps his arm out, encapsulating all of the scenery before them.

“ _’Let’s take it easy’_ …” Hinata replies, wistfully.

“I’m sorry?”

“Something someone said to me once. When I was in the city, all I did was work until I couldn’t, just so I could drive until I couldn’t see. Here, I work hard, sure, but I get to drive all the time. Racing was something I could only have in snatches, but here, it’s almost every week. Ukai introduced me to the dirt track scene and I was hooked.” A grin spills over Hinata’s face, wild and fierce. “I _loved_ it, it was racing but so different. Can’t tell you how many hours I’ve spent on Willy’s Butte, carving out the perfect lap.” Hinata puffs out a tiny little sigh and tilts his head up to the sky, the breeze ruffling his hair. “All I want to do, is race, and here I can. In the city, I couldn’t. But not only that… I wanted to help the town.”

“Help them?”

“Yeah. I paid them back in a few jobs they desperately needed doing when I first arrived, as a thank-you for getting me back on my feet. But then I heard about what happened to them, and I… couldn’t just leave, even without the dirt track racing. I could fix so many of their buildings, so I stayed so I could. I don’t know how I can get people to visit again, but…” Hinata turns to look at Wheel Well behind them, “someday I’ll figure out how to get it back on the map for them.”

“I just thought it was a ghost town…” Kageyama admits, feeling his shoulders slump sadly. “I didn’t think about _why_ it was.”

“To be fair, it _is_ a ghost town,” Hinata says, sounding defeated. “It got cut off short, right in its heyday, and it’s not fair. But there’s still so much potential there, you know? Everyone’s so good at what they do, the scenery is beautiful… it could be a hit again, if only people knew where to look.”

“So it’s just you fixing everything?”

“I’ve done most of it,” Hinata shrugs, “for the guys still there anyway. Now it’s just maintenance for those buildings, and trying to fix up all the abandoned ones so they look…”

“Less creepy?”

“…Yeah.”

“Why doesn’t anyone leave?” Kageyama asks suddenly, as the thought occurs to him. He can understand wanting to stay, it was their home, but… he’s sure plenty of them could leave and be successful, if they wanted to.

“It’s home,” Hinata says simply. “They built that town from the ground up, just as road trips were getting popular. Lots of people have left already, that’s why there’s all those abandoned buildings, but everyone still there is really… integral, you know? Everyone is family to them, it’s not as easy as just leaving.”

“I see…” Kageyama murmurs. He can see it – the townsfolk are a mismatched bunch, but it’s clear they have a strong community spirit. They’re always together in some way, and to Kageyama, it feels like every day is like a family reunion for them. Maybe that’s why they were all so happy.

It sets up a pit of longing deep in his chest. That easy comfort from being around people who cared about you, all the time… how long had it been?

The pain grows until it starts become unbearable, so Kageyama clears his throat and his mind of the invading thoughts and turns to face Hinata. “Question,” he grunts, and the handyman blinks up at him, confused. “Why haven’t you fixed any of the lighting?”

He doesn’t mean it to sound accusatory, even though that’s how it sort of comes across, he’s genuinely baffled. Even if everyone in town _did_ go to bed with the sun, that surely wasn’t practical in winter especially, and what if customers did arrive? They had to be inside too, for fear of tripping over themselves? The only lighting in town came from two lonely streetlamps near the entrance and one, useless blinking traffic light.

“Actually, that was one of the first things I wanted to fix,” Hinata replies, and Kageyama is a little taken aback by the annoyance in his tone. But it doesn’t seem to be directed at him, judging by the way the redhead is planting his hands on his hips and scowling down at the dirt. “It’s so gloomy, right? Not great for a tourist town. But it’s because of the neon.”

“The… neon?” Kageyama squints as he tries to remember. It is true that almost every building, with the exception of the courthouse, is draped in it, and it’s never on. “It’s broken?”

“Broken with age and disuse,” Hinata confirms. “I never fixed neon before, not in the city, but I figured I could give it a go. But… it turns out fixing neon, or ordering new tubes, is _really_ expensive. Way more than I could afford to pay out of my pocket, and definitely beyond the means of the town.” He sighs and lets his hands drop from his hips in a shrug. “I’d love to fix it, if I could, but it’s just too costly. Most of the evening lighting comes from the neon, there’s actually very few street lights for me to fix.”

Kageyama hums quietly in response and lets the conversation drop, mind full and heavy with everything he’s just been told. He’s staring down, towards the town, his eyes far away with thought, until the crunch of dirt beside him sharpens them again.

Hinata wanders away from his side to sit down on an old wooden bench that sits at the edge of the clifftop, facing the view. After a moment’s hesitation, Kageyama moves to join him, taking a seat beside him. They both sit there, for a long, quiet moment, before Kageyama murmurs, “I hope you can fix it.”

_The neon. The town. The racing career you still won’t tell me about._

“Thank-you,” Hinata says back, softly, and for a long time after, neither of them say anything at all, just simply staring out at the stunning landscape before them.

* * *

“I have an admission,” Hinata pipes up suddenly into the quiet, and Kageyama shuffles on the bench so he can look at him. “I owe you an apology.”

Kageyama’s brow furrows. “For what?” He asks, thrown. The only thing he can think of is Hinata deliberately letting him drive into a mound of cacti. And possibly also the awful souvenir clothes, if he really wanted to feel petty. Other than that, he has no idea what the handyman could possibly feel the need to apologise for.

Hinata rubs the back of his neck and avoids his gaze, looking off into the middle distance. “When you first… _turned up_ , I was really hoping that I was right about you – that you weren’t some arrogant prick obsessed with winning.” He lets his hand drop, clasping both of them in his lap instead. “And then when you messed up paving the road so _deliberately_ … I was just really disappointed, you know? So I lost my temper. Challenged you to that race, even though I knew you hadn’t raced off road before, because I felt like you looked at me and saw an easy win.”

Kageyama shifts awkwardly on the bench. He _had_ looked at Hinata and saw an easy win.

“But… the way you talked about Dinoco, and the fact you’re still trying to fling your car around turn three even though you can’t drift a damn… I was wrong. I’m sorry. I should’ve listened better.” Hinata pauses, but before Kageyama can even begin to process any of this, he then adds, “Although, actually… I never believed the rumours about you anyway, so I was in fact right all along! Heh.” Something between a grin and a smirk sparks across his face.

“Uhh…” Kageyama intones, stunned. He sits back against the bench, staring off into the horizon and tries to piece together all the things Hinata had just dropped on him so suddenly. Somehow they feel so much more significant than the story he was told before. “Rumours…?” He repeats, his brain stuck on loop over that particular part, playing it over and over again.

He blinks, jolts in his seat, and spins to face the handyman as realisation sparks. “Do you know who I am?”

Hinata leans forward until he can plonk an elbow on his knee, and rests his chin on his palm, smiling up at Kageyama soft and teasing. “The youngest rookie ever to almost take the Piston Cup?” He confirms, voice light and lilting. “Yeah, I know who you are.”

Kageyama gapes, dumbfounded, for a few beats. “Then why didn’t you ever _say_ anything?” He bursts out, flabbergasted.

“Does it matter?” Hinata asks, eyes round.

Kageyama opens and closes his mouth a few times, at a complete loss for words, before he slumps back against the bench and scowls. _Did_ it matter? A small, petty, part of him is grumbling that if Hinata knew who he was, then making him stay was all the more annoying, but it quickly quietens. Hinata hadn’t treated him any differently _despite_ who he was. Somehow, that thought makes him feel incredibly warm.

“What did you mean by rumours?” He opts to ask again instead, kicking his feet against the dirt petulantly. He can’t help the pout that purses his mouth as he asks – he knows very well what rumours circulate about him.

“That you’re arrogant and impossible to work with? A cocky new upstart who knows it all already?” Hinata says, and Kageyama jolts in his seat, shocked.

That was _anger_ in those words.

When he looks back over at Hinata, the handyman is scowling. “I hated it. It never seemed… right. I _know_ arrogant racers, I’ve met plenty of them. You’re stubborn as a mule, but you’re not like them. I’ve never seen you make a dirty pass and whenever you’re interviewed you never put any of the other racers down. If anything you’re more polite than half of the grid, except when you’re sulking ‘cause you lost.”

“… Oh,” Kageyama says, in lieu of anything more eloquent to say. He’d never heard anyone even come close to _defending_ him before. Even Takinoue and Shimada tended to sweep it all under the rug whenever it came up. _Don’t worry about it kid_ , was what they’d normally say.

“I mean, you can’t keep a crew chief for more than five minutes because you’ve got wool in your ears, but other than that you seem okay to me!” Hinata says brightly, and he sits up straight to shoot Kageyama winning grin.

“Thanks,” Kageyama grunts, before the words hit him properly. “What do you mean ‘wool in my ears’?” He demands.

Hinata leans in close, as if to impart a great secret. Kageyama tries not to become too distracted by the way his hair shines gold in the light, this close. “You’re not great at listening,” Hinata says solemnly.

“I listen,” Kageyama frowns.

“Do you?” Hinata replies, leaning back again with an eyebrow raised. “Seems to me you like running at your own pace. How do you make that turn back at Willy’s Butte again?”

“’Turn right to go left’. Apparently.”

“ _See?”_ Hinata squints. “Other people know how to race too, y’know.”

“I know that!” Kageyama bursts out, suddenly very annoyed. He does not want to sit here and be berated by someone he’s come to think of as a sort-of-friend about the one thing he hears about on almost daily basis. “It’s just… I like racing my way.”

It sounds petulant to even his own ears, and he feels his cheeks burn slightly. Hinata doesn’t reply though, doesn’t even seem that bothered by this response at all. Instead, he continues to look at him, soft and open, and then he waves a hand as if to say _‘go on.’_

Kageyama sucks in a deep breath and releases it slowly. “I had… a crew chief once,” he says, very slowly. He can feel his chest twist up tight with the words, hot and restricting. Twisting his fists into the fabric of his jeans, he forces himself to continue. Hinata had laid his secrets bare, he could share too – just a little. “And I never had any issues, but… they’re… he’s-“

There’s a gentle brush of fingertips across the back of his hand.

“You don’t have to say if you don’t want to,” Hinata says, so softly. His eyes are so very warm.

A breath shudders in and out, and Kageyama forces the words to restart. He can’t say all of it – not now, not yet – but he can continue. “Anyway. I _had_ a crew chief. But now, all the recent ones, they’re…”

“Not the same?” Hinata finishes, when he struggles to find the word he’s looking for.

“No,” Kageyama admits. “I just argued with the first one the entire time. He wanted me to do this, I wanted to do that. I’ve always been a racer that prefers speed over _tactics_. Overtaking through pit stops, it never felt quite right, you know? We never agreed. Same with the next one. My sponsor got a little annoyed at that point so… I tried a different tactic. The guy after that, I did everything I was told, like a good boy.” He huffs, a smile with no humour creasing his face. “I lost both races with him that way. In the lower leagues, stuff like that doesn’t matter so much, but this is the _Piston Cup_ ,” he sighs heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. “So I just decided to do it all on my own. Come up with my own strategies. It didn’t work every time, but I won a lot, so,” he shrugs, and settles back against the bench. “It works.”

“Does it?” Hinata wonders. “I think your two burst tyres at the end of the last race say otherwise.”

Kageyama’s mood immediately starts to sour. He’s been doing his absolute best to not think about what probably one of his worst moments in his career to date – missing out on his championship title by a hair just because his _tyres_ gave out. Maybe he could’ve saved the race by pitting earlier, maybe not. Either way, he’ll never know, and the last thing he needs is having his face rubbed in it.

He’s about to open his mouth to spit out some retort, when Hinata beats him to it.

“I think your speed is incredible,” the redhead says, completely unexpectedly. He keeps doing this. “You’re so fast, it blows everyone away, but sometimes you just gotta…” he pushes to his feet, gazing out at the horizon, “ _Take it easy_. Seems a shame to get every race over and done with as quick as possible.”

Kageyama has no reply.

When he was younger, he used to eek races out – slow down deliberately and let people pass him, only to overtake them again. He could’ve, many times, zoomed straight to the finish line and get it over with, but often he didn’t. He just didn’t want the race to end. He can still remember his grandfather’s face whenever he did so – fondly exasperated.

But then… but then it wasn’t so much about _fun_ , anymore. It was about success. It was about _winning_. And if Kageyama wanted to win he had to be fast, because that was his biggest weapon. And the prize for winning was the chance to race _again._

“Winning is the most important thing,” he finds himself saying, and he’s surprised by the bitterness in his voice.

“And if you win, you’ll get Dinoco, right?” Hinata asks, and his tone is… odd again. That careful control slipping in once more.

“Yes… hopefully,” Kageyama says, eyeing Hinata closely.

“Well they have all the best guys. I’m sure there’s a crew chief that’ll work well with you,” the handyman goes to on to say, tone overly bright. “I know my opinion doesn’t count for much, but I think you need to find someone who’ll let you race how you like, but point out when it’s going wrong. Work together, you know? You had one before, why not again?” He glances back over his shoulder at Kageyama, those eyes fierce again. “Seems a shame to run those races all by yourself.”

Once again, Kageyama has no words. Has nothing to say at all, to this man who’s a racer and yet not. Who seemingly understands everything so simply, with no judgement at all. Whose life he crashed into and is about to leave again just as abruptly.

The thought seizes him. Here was a guy he wanted to _race_ , not because there was a trophy at the end, or a sponsorship deal, but because it was _fun_. Racing was fun, it was all he wanted to do, and he finds himself longing to do so with Hinata.

The professional world has never seemed so cold and lonely, in comparison to the dirt track that lies at the bottom of the mountain.

“Well,” Hinata says abruptly into the silence, shattering Kageyama’s thoughts into the wind. “We’d best get back, you still have a road to pave,” he says this last part with a wink and strolls away, towards where their cars are parked.

Kageyama gets to his feet to follow silently, the loose dirt crunching beneath his boots. He watches as Hinata gets close to his car and moves to clamber inside, and has a sudden vision of the man in a pale green race suit, all ready to race for Vitoline. Throughout all of Hinata’s story, he had completely neglected to mention it.

He opens his mouth to ask, but his throat sticks, closing up tight and strangling off the words.

_“If Hinata’s still a part of your world, why hasn’t he told you?”_

Tsukishima’s words once rise to the surface and Kageyama forces the memory away, clutching a fist.

He wants to ask, he wants to know, but the peace that’s been created on the top of this mountain and the memories that have been shared… he doesn’t want to ruin that. If the lawyer is right, and Hinata really doesn’t want him to know, then Kageyama won’t push. Not now, not yet.

“You coming or what?” Hinata calls, sticking his head out of his driver’s window and cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah,” he breathes back, and strides towards his car.

The drive back is more sedate than the one towards Wheel Well – apparently there’s more than one road down the mountain, and Hinata takes them on one that’s more direct. Part of Kageyama misses the scenery, the trees, the waterfall… but another part of him is content to just cruise alongside the Porsche, lost in his thoughts.

 _“Let’s take it easy,” huh?_ He thinks as Karasuno Springs once again looms ahead of them, old and dusty and so full of warmth.

Maybe slowing down once in a while was worth something after all.

* * *

Kageyama sips from his water bottle and looks at the remaining stretch of ruined road, considering.

He’s no expert, but, with how much progress he’s made so far, he thinks he’ll have the entire road re-paved very soon.

The thought makes him pause, and he drops his bottle from his lips to twist it this way and that as he thinks. Tomorrow is Saturday, and the day after that… is the race. He really should finish up as soon as he can now, so he can spend tomorrow travelling to the International Speedway and make up for the woeful amount of time he’s lost. And yet… he doesn’t want to.

He has until tomorrow evening. That’s what’s important now. The race isn’t going anywhere, but this? He turns on the spot, facing the courthouse. There’s strips of yellow dotting along the tarmac now – Tanaka had been out earlier to paint the new markings.

After the race, he has no idea what’ll happen next. If he wins, and lands Dinoco, then he’s going to be busy for _weeks._

He has just less than two days to pave the road, beat Hinata at a race, and… one other thing.

Screwing the top back on his water bottle, Kageyama tosses it into Bessie’s cab and jogs his way up the street to the courthouse.

The old oak doors creak noisily as he shoves them open, peering inside. He and Daichi hadn’t entered through this way when he was first here, and he’s unsure of what to expect.

The doors open out into a wide vestibule, with the same, looming windows that let the mid afternoon sun stream through and the slowly turning fans on the ceiling. There’s a few noticeboards scattered on the walls, along with old billboards and posters for events held in years past. A small desk stands at the back, next to another set of oak doors that Kageyama assumes lead to the main hall, and another, smaller door next to them.

“Can I help you?” A voice pipes up, and Kageyama stops his staring to swivel in the direction of the voice.

It belongs to another middle-aged man, about Tsukishima’s age if he had to guess, with neat dark hair and an alarming amount of freckles, splattered over every inch of his exposed skin. He’s standing just behind the desk, seemingly in the middle of arranging some papers that were scattered across its surface.

“I’m looking for Mayor Ukai,” Kageyama explains, striding forwards. “Is he here?” He has no idea where the mayor might be, but he figures this is the best place to find him – he rarely sees him walking around town like the rest of the locals.

“Oh! Yes, he’s in his office,” the other man says with a polite smile, pointing with his pen at the smaller door set next to the large ones that the lead to the hall. “He should be free now if you need to speak to him.”

Kageyama about to grunt his thanks when the man clears his throat and then abruptly shoves his hand out.

“I’m Yamaguchi by the way. I don’t think we’ve talked yet,” the man – Yamaguchi – announces, “I just wanted to thank you for doing such a good job on the road.”

“Oh,” Kageyama says, blindsided by this, but he grips Yamaguchi’s offered hand all the same. “Kageyama,” he replies, feeling once again as though this was a pointless introduction on his part, “and I’m just fixing it.” It was his fault it was ruined in the first place, why did all of these people keep thanking him for it?

“Eh, it needed fixing a long time ago, to tell you the truth. I haven’t seen it look that good in years. It’s the main thoroughfare here, so, I know everyone appreciates what you’re doing. Tsukki might not but… that’s just the way he is I guess.”

Tsukki? Kageyama tilts his head. The lawyer? An oddly cutesy nickname for someone so uptight and robotic. Maybe they were friends, or something. Kageyama cannot fathom it himself, but he supposes weirder things have happened.

(Like him growing to like this place.)

“Anyway! I’m keeping you,” Yamaguchi says with an embarrassed wave of his hands. “The Mayor’s through there.”

“Thanks,” Kageyama nods, and he turns to walk up to the door that, now he’s close enough to see, has a plaque on it that says _‘Mayor’_ in elegant cursive. He raises his hand to knock, the sound echoing loudly around the empty vestibule, and turns the handle when a grunt of ‘ _come in!_ ’ sounds through the wood.

Ukai is standing in front of a bookcase full of files, rubbing his chin in thought. The little office is very cluttered – bookshelves line almost every wall, with more boxes scattered on the floor. Even the desk is covered with papers and manila envelopes, some in orderly piles, others in disarray. There are no windows, just a dingy lamp that hangs from the ceiling next to yet another slowly twirling ceiling fan.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Kageyama says, closing the door behind him and trying not to trip over one of the boxes.

“Hmm?” Ukai hums, and turns to face him, jaw going slack in surprise. “Oh! Kageyama, I… was not expecting to see you.” He folds his arms and gives him an appraising look. “You done with the road?”

“Not quite,” Kageyama replies, shuffling awkwardly. Was he supposed to have finished it by now? He has no idea. Hinata’s original estimate was off anyway by how badly he’d messed his first attempt. “I… need your help with something,” he forces out, and tries not to choke on the words.

He’d been giving this a lot of thought, up in Bessie’s cab, ever since he’d gotten back into town. He’d swung between it being a ridiculous and stupid idea or being a brilliant idea that was also ridiculous. But he figures, as grumpy as mayor could sometimes be, if he was anything like the rest of the townspeople, he’d probably help in some way.

It seemed like the done thing around here.

“Help?” Ukai repeats, frowning. But it’s out of concern, not scorn, and his folded arms drop to rest his hands on his hips. “You okay kid?”

“I’m fine,” Kageyama hurries to reassure, thrown off by the sudden worry, even if he was somewhat expecting it. “It’s just… there’s something I wanted to do.”

He crosses the short distance across the cramped floor so he’s closer to Ukai and takes a deep breath. Once he’s assured of the mayor’s curiosity, he lets it go and starts speaking. Hesitantly at first, before it starts steam rolling into a ramble once the words begin to flow. Ukai follows along dutifully, dumbfounded at first, but eventually a small smile starts to bloom, until it cracks wide into a grin.

“Okay, okay!” Ukai says, lifting a hand to halt Kageyama’s stream. “I get it. Wow, you really are one strange guy, Kageyama,” he chuckles, shaking his head with bemusement. “But I gotta say? _This_ , I cannot turn down.”

He reaches out and claps a firm hand on Kageyama’s shoulder, strong and warm. “Let’s make that happen, shall we?”


	7. Drift

The oak doors of the courthouse swing shut behind him and Kageyama blows out a long breath, satisfied.

Ukai had his request under control, so for now, there was nothing more to do until tomorrow. He strolls back along Main Street, taking in the old, battered buildings as he goes. It’s strange. A few days ago he had thought them ugly and not worth a second glance. Now they just seem unbearably sad. He wonders what Hinata’s plan is to make them look less… abandoned.

By the time he makes it back to Bessie, who’s idling at the far end of the road by now, it hits him just how little he has left to pave. A few hours work at best, would be his rough estimate. Good, that’s good. That gives him enough time to get what he has planned done tomorrow, but… he turns in place besides the road paving machine, brow creasing in thought as he eyes the sky above. It’s well into the afternoon – and he’s gotten a decent amount of work done already, despite the morning’s activities. The drive from earlier feels like days ago, with how slowly time seems to crawl by in this town.

Kageyama scrubs his hand through his hair and thinks. If he gets up early, he can probably finish what he has left to pave in time to get his plan in motion tomorrow, which is probably ideal. If he gets it all done _now_ , it leaves him very little excuse to hang around until the morning. He’s unsure how much of the townspeople’s hospitality extends beyond just putting up with him while he fixes the road. Maybe Ukai will just take his offer earlier and see him out, regardless if he’s here or not.

The road now no longer urgent, and with nothing else can do for the rest of the day, Kageyama reaches up to switch Bessie’s engine off. Might as well see if he can find Daichi and ask to go back to the track. He doesn’t know whether there’s time to fit in a rematch race with Hinata before Sunday, with how turn three still eludes him, but so help him, he’s going to try.

A quick glance through the windows of The V8 Café tell him that Daichi isn’t there (though Nishinoya is, and it takes a bit of quick footwork to avoid yet another tyre offer. They were steadily getting more obscene – the current one was that he buy one tyre and get seven for free. What was he going to do with _eight tyres?)_

As the police station nears, he hears Daichi before he sees him – as the policeman’s old and exceptionally noisy patrol car rolls up to the station with a bang and splutter. Apparently the officer has just gotten back from his rounds, which he seems to do on occasion, but at no real schedule. It must have been sheer dumb luck he caught Kageyama hurtling around in the dark when he did that night.

“Afternoon, Kageyama!” Daichi greets politely as he hauls himself out of his car, but he doesn’t move to close the door just yet. “You want to go back to the track?”

“I… yes please,” Kageyama replies, after a moment’s pause, thrown by the correct assumption. He wonders wildly whether such a request will look cheeky, considering he already went on a lengthy drive with Hinata this morning, but then Sugawara’s words that he’s not in prison float in his mind, and he relaxes minutely.

“Thought you might. I figured even getting out and about with Hinata wouldn’t stop you from wanting to make that turn,” Daichi says with a small smile, and then, oddly, slams his car door closed to lock it. Kageyama fidgets – was he going to say no regardless? “How’s that going, by the way? You and Hinata? Getting along now?”

“Umm… I guess?” Kageyama says haltingly, awkward. Daichi locks his car and comes closer, and his stomach twists up anxiously. Is this going to turn into a lecture?

“What’s that face for?” Daichi snorts when he gets near. “Anyway, if you can remember how to get to the track, you can go on ahead. I’m pretty sure Hinata left the impound unlocked. You still got your car key?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama confirms, his fingertips brushing his pocket where it was nestled absentmindedly. Hinata hadn’t asked for it back when they had gotten back into town, and he didn’t offer it up. Maybe it was a sign of trust or just a slip-up, he doesn’t know, but having his key on him makes him feel better, so he’s not going to give it up if he doesn’t have to. “It’s alright for me to just… go?” He checks, suddenly wary. No escort? It doesn’t look like Daichi’s going to offer anyway, does this mean he has to ask someone in town?

“Well…” Daichi says slowly, rocking on his heels with his arms folded. “The way I see it, if you _really_ wanted to, you could have bolted anytime today. With all the gas Hinata had me fill your car with you’ve still got plenty in the tank, I’m sure. And while I wasn’t kidding about having Hinata chase you,” his eyes twinkle merrily here, “that would’ve been a little hard if you got a head start. If you can manage to stay here and get your work done even with your car readily available, then I figure you can head to the track without me breathing down your neck.” He grins at him suddenly, his eyes crinkling. “Besides, someone’s already out there.”

Kageyama blinks, utterly blindsided by this sudden display of trust. It both warms him deeply and unsettles him in equal measure. Reassuring, but also what if he missteps? It all feels so tentative, he’s loathe to suddenly lose it all.

It occurs to him suddenly then that he’s just standing there silently, blinking into thin air, but Daichi doesn’t seem to mind, the grin still firmly in place. “Thank-you!” He blurts out abruptly, as gratitude seizes him tight out of nowhere, and he has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop the smile that wants to wobble across his face.

Daichi tilts his head at him, the grin softening. “What are you thanking me for?” He asks, gently amused. “Anyway. You remember the way?”

“I think so,” Kageyama confirms with a hesitant nod. The track isn’t all that far from the town, really, and it’s pretty much a straight line. As long as he leaves from the right point and aims for the track’s signature rock formation in its centre, he should be fine.

“Well, if you get lost keep honking your horn and someone should come along eventually,” Daichi chuckles. “Sound travels pretty far out here.”

And with that, he gives Kageyama one final nod before he turns on his heel to head into the police station.

Kageyama stands there for a few moments, torn between bolting for his car now he has the freedom to, and chasing after Daichi to tell him that his car doesn’t _have_ a horn.

* * *

Through some small miracle (and a lot of staring at a tower of rock), Kageyama manages to make it to Willy’s Butte with little incident.

Daichi had been correct – the impound had been left unlocked when he arrived to fetch his car, and there was more than enough fuel still left in his tank.

This time, he hadn’t even spared the open road that snaked off towards the highway a second glance before he was streaking across the desert to the dirt track.

As he nears, just about to tip over the soft slope that leads down to the roughly hewn start line of the track, he stops dead, yanking on his handbrake.

There, at the start line already, is Hinata’s Porsche, sitting idle in the afternoon sun, a spot of yellow in amongst all the red. He remembers, vaguely, Daichi saying that someone was already here but at the time, the words hadn’t really registered. Stupid really, who else was he expecting to be here?

Hinata doesn’t seem to have noticed him, from the way he doesn’t look over or call – no smart remarks, no grinning. He just stares ahead at the track before him, his face creased in an oddly serious, concentrating frown, one at odds for someone usually so open.

Kageyama finds himself getting out of his car slowly and quietly, shutting his door as softly as possible. It’s a little unnecessary – the deep blue of his Corvette sticks out like a sore thumb in the desert if Hinata even so much as glances over, but somehow he still feels the need to be stealthy.

Clearly Hinata is at the track of his own accord, and just being here feels like intruding. Like he’s about to watch something private and intimate, just a man and his machine.

Hinata seems to be fiddling with the controls in his car, clearly in no hurry to get started. Kageyama rounds his own car and stands just in front of its nose, watching him closely. He can’t really tell for sure, from this distance, but the tyres on the Cayman look different. The markings on the walls just about visible. The dirt track tyres.

A smirk makes its way unbidden across his face.

The local dirt track champion was about to fly.

For a short while, there’s nothing but the breeze and the sun beating down overhead, and then suddenly, a beast wakes up and roars.

The Porsche springs to life, its engine thundering across the desert, deep and defining.

Hinata revs a few times, seemingly settling into his seat, and Kageyama’s hands curl into fists by his side, palms sweaty in anticipation.

“Come on then, dumbass,” he whispers under his breath, _“drive.”_

The Porsche snarls once before it springs, launching across the dirt like a bullet. The first corner looms in seconds, but there’s no screech of brakes or scrape of tyres across the loose rocks. Instead, the Cayman streaks onward, straight up the curving hard rock bank that looms above turns one and two.

Kageyama finds himself gaping, watching with wide, unblinking eyes as Hinata sails along the bank.

_That slope? That’s track, treat it like it is._

The instructions resurface in his mind. And, well, Hinata was certainly treating it like track.

Not once does the Porsche falter or slide or slip from its trajectory. A stream of dust puffs up in clouds behind it as it streams across the bank in a perfect arc between the turns. Tilted so sharply it’s almost running at a full 180 degree angle, held in place by pure momentum and unfiltered speed. The power behind it sends rumbles reverberating across the ground as the Cayman slingshots itself back down to the ground at the apex of turn two – a perfect trajectory.

The second straight is next, bumpier than the first one, but the rough terrain means nothing, the Porsche is travelling so fast. Rocks and pebbles spew out in every direction as Hinata streaks across the straight, a demon in sunshine yellow. The ground disappears rapidly, and Kageyama watches, heart trilling, as this dot of colour gleams brightly in the middle of the desert – a comet streaking across the earth.

Turn three looms, a behemoth, and a terror. Just a curve in dirt, and yet impossible to navigate.

_If you’re going hard enough left…_

“Okay…” Kageyama murmurs, his fists clenching tighter, half-moon grooves dug into his palms. “Let’s see this miracle turn of yours.”

The Porsche shoots down the last few metres of the second straight, unrelenting, unwielding. An unstoppable force. The corner inches closer.

And then those tyres _turn._

 _…_ _you’ll find yourself turning right_.

Hinata wrenches at his steering wheel, and the front tyres of his Porsche obediently twist to the right.

But instead of hurtling away, into the sandbanks and the cacti, like Kageyama’s Corvette, the Porsche simply… _glides._

Once again, it’s like someone reaches out through the universe and slows down time. Dust and dirt billow out in soft red clouds around the Porsche, kicked up by the tyres as they slide across the loose earth. The car doesn’t turn, it _slides._ The rear end kicks out, but it’s not fishtailing, it’s controlled. Instead of whipping off the track, the entire car skids across the ground, sideways, drifting across the dirt in a perfect curve. It’s paradoxical, the wheels are turned to the right, and yet the car turns _left._

Kageyama’s jaw loosens and drops in sheer, uncomprehending awe.

The dust clouds haze over the Porsche’s bodywork, staining it a muted orange, as it completes its drift. It’s a wonder Hinata can see, there’s so much dirt being kicked up as his car slides, but then he remembers. _If you trust your car…_

Then the cloud puffs into nothing, as the gleaming, sloping yellow nose of the Cayman shoots through. The tyres screech as they are dragged back to the left, and the entire car launches out of turn three like a rocket.

_Perfect._

Turn four is gone in a blink, devoured in seconds, time suddenly resuming normal speed, and then the Porsche is nothing but a golden bolt that shoots across the straight and over the starting line once again.

The whole lap took maybe two minutes, but to Kageyama it feels like it had taken years, every detail seared into his brain.

He had been right.

It’s almost painful to admit it, but Hinata was _right._

His feet slip over the loose dirt as he suddenly finds himself moving, slipping down the dirt bank as fast as his legs will allow him, almost tripping over himself. Dust swirls around him, a gritty, red-tinged fog, and he waves his hands at it irritably, clearing his vision just enough so he can slide down the rest of the bank. Cacti crunch under his boots and pebbles skip across the ground as he all but sprints from the side of the track to the starting line where the Porsche is still sat, idle.

Hinata doesn’t notice him as he nears, once again focusing on his centre console, fiddling with the settings. His windows are up for once, and Kageyama almost crashes into them as he thuds against the side of the car, the loose ground not helping to slow his momentum anyway. The handyman jolts violently in his seat when collides, huge brown eyes swerving upwards to stare at him in shock as he thumps his knuckles against the window.

 _“Kageyama?”_ Hinata gapes once he obligingly rolls it down, staring up at him and looking absolutely bewildered. “What are you-“

“That was _incredible_ ,” Kageyama blurts, the words bursting out of him without any prior thought. Immediately, his cheeks start to burn, and he clears his throat, standing a little straighter so he’s not quite so slumped against the other man’s car. Nevertheless, he keeps a steady hold of that surprised brown gaze.

Hinata stares up at him, face slack in shock, for all of thirty seconds, before he seemingly comes back online, and a slow smile starts spreading over his face. It quickly widens into a grin, sharp and wicked, and then Kageyama suddenly realises his fatal mistake.

“Incredible?” Hinata repeats, sounding absolutely thrilled. He undoes his seatbelt without looking so he can rock up and stick his head out of his window, up close into Kageyama’s space. “You think I’m _incredible?”_

Kageyama dithers, caught between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, the bright, ecstatic joy sparking in those warm brown eyes made his heart flutter pleasantly. On the other, that tilt to his mouth spelled out a world of-

“You like my drifting, huh? It’s cool right? You watched the entire thing? See, you thought I was talking nonsense, but if you do it right you really glide around the corners like _fwooh!_ You float just like a Cadillac. So? You gonna admit I was right?” Those eyes and that smile dance closer as Hinata levers himself further out of his car, rambling happy nonsense.

“Alright, that’s enough, I take it all back,” Kageyama snaps moodily, slapping his palms across that annoying, smiling mouth.

Hinata bats at him irritably until he removes them, flopping back down into his seat with a huff. He doesn’t pout though, instead tilting his head to smirk at Kageyama, equal parts coy and devilish. “You want a demonstration?”

“Didn’t you just… provide one…?” Kageyama wonders, thrown.

That smirk sharpens, and then suddenly the engine dies and the Porsche’s door is being thrown open, forcing Kageyama to stumble backwards with a surprised shout.

“Hinata!”

The handyman doesn’t reply, just strides straight past to clamber up the dirt bank to where Kageyama’s Corvette sits at the top.

Kageyama stands there, blinking dumbly in the sunlight next to the abandoned Porsche, still with its door hanging open, before he clocks that Hinata is trying to get into his car. Confusion evaporates immediately in favour of hot indignation, and he scrambles to join him, almost turning an ankle over in the process as the dirt slides beneath his feet. _“Oi!”_

Brown eyes flick over and ignore him, and then there’s a swish as a door opens and Hinata is clambering inside the Stingray. _“Hinata!”_

He reaches the peak of the bank just as his shout fades, stumbling over the sand clumping on his boots. Panting breaths punching in and out, he staggers forwards and slams against the side of his car, face bright red and hot. “Hey!”

“Roomy in here!” Hinata calls back, grinning wide and toothily through the window, completely undeterred by the waves of rage oozing from Kageyama’s body.

Kageyama wrenches the door back open and flings it wide, sending up another cloud of dust. “You are _not_ driving my car,” he hisses, low and furious. It’s not that he thinks Hinata will crash it, it’s just… he’s very particular about who he lets drive it. Especially around a racetrack. It feels like a transgression.

“That’d be impressive, sitting here,” Hinata quips, raising an eyebrow at him. He doesn’t move from his seat at all, instead gesturing around him with an expression bordering on sly.

Kageyama dithers in place once he finally realises Hinata has gotten into the passenger seat.

The handyman cackles as the fury drains from Kageyama’s face to be replaced with awkward flushed blotches. He reaches over and pats the driver’s seat. “In you get, Yamayama.”

Humiliation burning his skin, Kageyama slams the door moodily and stomps around to his side of the car. He doesn’t say a word as he gets in and starts the ignition, glaring silently down at his steering wheel, waiting for inevitable goading to continue. It’s only now occurring to him that Hinata intends to instruct him as he does the lap, and the thought of it sends embarrassment he’d thought otherwise warring with the knowledge that he’s going to be _watched_. Up close and personal in a cramped cab.

(Though admittedly bigger than the Porsche’s, as the Corvette is, well, _bigger.)_

But a long, drawn out minute of awkward silence drags past, and not one cocky words slips past Hinata’s lips.

Hesitantly, he shifts his gaze over to Hinata, only to be met with an encouraging smile and a hand waving in a shooing motion. He squints as the handyman wiggles excitedly in his seat and sighs, deeply, and allows his car to slip down the rest of the bank to roll towards the starting line.

“Isn’t your car in the way?” He mutters moodily as he lines himself up.

“Nah. But if you crash into her nobody will find your body,” Hinata chirps, voice entirely too light for such a dark threat.

Kageyama represses a shudder as he shifts his car into gear, easing himself into his seat and adjusting the grip on his steering wheel. He’s just about to get into the right mindset to launch, when Hinata abruptly leans over and starts fiddling with his traction controls. “ _Hey_ , stop that!” He protests, going to swat the redhead’s hands away, but is halted by a deeply impressed look.

“Your set up’s all wrong for dirt,” Hinata says simply. “I’m just making it easier.”

Kageyama frowns mightily down at the mop of orange hair bobbing by the centre console as the handyman prods and pokes, but he doesn’t say anything further. He wrestles his need for control down and into submission for the time being – if he doesn’t like it he can always switch it back. “Finished?” He grunts.

“Yep!”

He waits for Hinata to sit up again before revving his engine a few times, the deep rumble sending his bones vibrating, Next to him, he spies a wicked grin split over Hinata’s face and he preens, satisfied.

Any racer _would_ appreciate the sound of a devastating engine.

He just spies that smiling mouth falling open as Hinata goes to say something, and takes his chance. Depresses his accelerator down flat and the Stingray springs, a bullet from the proverbial gun. He snickers to himself at his passenger’s startled yelp, pleased with his tiny bit of revenge, but then the sinister joy softens slightly when Hinata starts laughing along too – a small, happy giggle, almost drowned out by the engine.

“Pay attention!” Hinata shouts suddenly, smacking the backs of his fingers against Kageyama’s bicep as turn one looms closer. “Try and go up the bank a bit, okay? You need to give yourself more room to turn into the apex properly.”

Kageyama shifts in his seat and floors it. He selects a lower gear than normal, needing the higher revs to account for the extra weight sitting next to him, and grits his teeth as his car screams and shoots up the rock wall of the bank. The difference in the surface below is startling, from soft loose dirt to sheer, hard rock, and his chassis shudders horribly beneath him. Still, Hinata nods approvingly next to him, so he weathers it, wrenching his steering wheel and allowing his car to sail around the bank.

The angle isn’t as steep as Hinata’s, but there’s a definite tilt to his car that sends adrenaline sparking through his blood. He’s _never_ driven like this before, fast and wild across nature. A short, sharp laugh barks out of him as they slingshot around, and all too soon the end of the bank starts to show. Another hand reaches out and touches lightly at the steering wheel.

“Turn now!” Hinata calls, and Kageyama obliges, angling his car out of the bank much sooner than he normally would’ve done.

His eyes widen in surprise when his car hurtles down the bank out of turn two and onto the straight in a seamless, perfect arc. The angle was flawless. He spares a quick glance over his shoulder to spy Hinata shooting him a grin, and then refocuses.

Because his nemesis is looming up fast: turn three.

All at once, it’s like someone shuts off all noise in the car. From the engine, the tyres, the dirt outside, even his own breathing. It’s all muffled. Except for the voice next to him that says lowly, urgently, “ _don’t brake.”_

So Kageyama doesn’t, allows his car to hurtle towards the corner, and out of the corner of his eye he spots a hand being held out towards the windscreen.

The corner arrives, and the hand drops down. _“Now!”_

Kageyama wrenches his steering wheel to right, biceps flexing as his jaw clenches hard. He wants to shut his eyes but he forces them to stay open. Heart in his mouth as his lung stop, halting in preparation for that swift swerve into the dirt and the tulips.

And then everything _slides._

The rear of the Corvette slips, curving away from the track as his whole car _shifts_ to glide along sideways, streams of dust and dirt billowing over the windshield.

“Hold it steady…” Hinata calls, as Kageyama starts to waver, thrown into uncertainty by the sudden lack of vision. “Okay… now!”

Kageyama tries not to bite his tongue as he clenches his teeth and wrenches the steering wheel, forcing his tyres to turn. The Stingray groans, but shudders out of its wavering drift to wobble into a something of a straight line, bursting forwards out of the dust cloud…

… And into a soft mound of loose dirt.

Kageyama blinks, dumbfounded.

Hinata cackles next to him, delighted. “Nearly!” He cheers. “That was perfect!”

“We’re in the tulips!” Kageyama rages in defiance, gesturing wildly at the gentle mounds of dirt that the Corvette has beached itself in, several metres from where the track is.

“Ah, that’s just because your timing was a little off, that’s all!” Hinata says brightly, smacking him on the shoulder and beaming. “Kind of my fault too, I forgot your car’s bigger. And the drift would’ve been affected because I’m adding more weight… still!” He leans in suddenly, and Kageyama finds himself frozen in place, unable to lean back as those bright brown eyes inch in close, shining almost amber. “You drifted!”

Kageyama gapes, arrested by the other man’s sudden excitement. For a moment, he just sits there, unable to comprehend this incandescently happy person, bouncing in excitement at his honestly poor attempt at a drift, which only ended up in them sitting in the dirt. This same person, who only a few days ago, was spitting fire and fury, now nothing but warmth.

He feels it spread through him, unfamiliar and comforting all at once, until a smile of his own tugs softly at the corner of his mouth and he turns to aim it down at his steering wheel. Not for the first time, he is awed by _fun_ this is.

He’s had more fun racing with Hinata in a handful of days than he has all year.

“Can we go again?” He finds himself asking, before he can stop himself.

There’s no response at first, and he feels the small smile slip off his face. Was he pushing it? But then he raises his gaze to find Hinata leaning forward to busy himself with his traction controls again, humming to himself as he works. “Get back to starting line, then,” Hinata orders, pausing his fiddling to shoot Kageyama a small smirk, one that Kageyama returns, brown eyes sparkling as he presses more buttons.

* * *

“We should stop,” Hinata says when Kageyama misses the turning by just a few metres on a subsequent run.

“What? No! I _nearly_ had it,” Kageyama snarls, already twisting his steering wheel to head back to turn two and try again. “You scared I’m actually going to get this and then beat you in a race?”

“Nope,” Hinata replies, popping the ‘p’. “But it’s getting dark. And _you_ have no headlights.”

Kageyama pauses halfway along the straight, the Corvette rumbling idly beneath him. “Fair point,” he sighs out, endlessly frustrated. In truth, the evening sun did make things hard to see, blending the red of the dirt track seamlessly into the rougher mounds of earth either side of it. Hinata could probably still navigate it easily, but for Kageyama, who didn’t have it memorised, it was almost pointless. The whole point of this exercise was to stay _on_ the track, after all.

“Besides,” Hinata says, his tone suddenly falsely light, airy. “Don’t you having some paving to finish? The race is in two days, don’t you need to leave tomorrow?”

Kageyama twists in his seat at that to look at the handyman.

Hinata isn’t looking at him, instead running his fingers idly along the stitching that lines the leather of his seat, brown eyes faraway. They look almost… disappointed.

Puffing out a soft sigh, Kageyama yanks up his handbrake to keep his Corvette in place and slumps back against his own seat. “Yeah,” he breathes out in confirmation. It’s incredibly unlikely that he’ll have time to learn the turning tomorrow, especially with everything else he has to do. It’s… frustrating. Immensely so. He wants to challenge Hinata again, on equal footing, wants to _race_ him.

It’s upsetting that he cannot do so.

And then the image of the photograph pops back into his mind and he finds himself gripping his steering wheel tightly. Why wasn’t Hinata still in the racing world? What _happened_ at the Vitoline 400? Why had Hinata been telling him he couldn’t get into professional racing, settling for racing on the dirt, when he _had?_

Why had he-

“Why did you quit racing?”

The words burst forth before he can stop them, loud and frustrated.

A deafening silence follows.

It’s heavy, overbearing, hanging over the car like a thundercloud, and for a long while, all Kageyama can hear is both of their breathing, the gentle tick of the Corvette’s engine, and his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.

He flexes his fingers against his steering wheel, the leather squeaking beneath sweaty skin. He’s annoyed, he’s confused. He could be racing against Hinata on the pro circuits right _now_ and he isn’t. He’s going to leave tomorrow to go back to a world he loved yet felt cold and empty, and leave the only warmth he’d found in years behind in a dirt track nobody knew about. It wasn’t _fair._

“… What?” Hinata whispers, the soft word like a gunshot in the quiet.

Kageyama winces, cannot bring himself to meet the handyman’s eyes. He can hear the betrayal in just that one word. “I… saw the photo of you, in your work shed.” He admits. Hates the crack in his voice as the admission spills forth. “The one where you raced in the Vitoline 400. And you’re _here_ , so… why did you quit?”

There’s no reply, not immediately. Just the overwhelming pressure of the silence and the vibration of the car beneath them.

Then there’s a slow, drawn out breath, whistled through pursed lips, and Kageyama grips his steering wheel so tight his knuckles ache. With all the steel he can muster, he turns to look at the man in his car, and is floored by the blank, golden fire that greets him. _Fire and brimstone_ , he thinks, he’d forgotten it, in amongst all the warm sticky browns and teasing glints, but there’s that golden glare he’d seen on his very first day, when he was challenged to a race.

“You think I _quit?”_ Hinata hisses, and there’s fury there, a heat that seizes Kageyama’s lungs and strangles them.

He stares, temporarily struck frozen by the force of those eyes, until something rises up in him all at once and forces its way through his tightened throat.

“No.”

Hinata blinks, once, and the fire diminishes ever so slightly.

“No, I don’t think you quit,” Kageyama finds himself saying – finds his heart saying, before his brain has time to catch up. “I just don’t understand.”

Because this man, this strange, determined man, who worked himself to the bone since he was teenager, to support a household and his right to race couldn’t have possibly quit. The city left behind, the town he painstakingly rebuilds, the dirt tracks, the car… it all feels like pieces to a jigsaw that don’t quite fit right. Like Kageyama is jamming the edges together to force a picture to appear, but it’s disjointed, incomplete.

He just wants to understand.

Hinata swallows thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing, and says nothing. Slowly, the golden, steel edge to his eyes fades, until they’re deep brown once more. It’s like watching the sun go down. Wordlessly, the redhead reaches for his seatbelt and unbuckles it, and then he’s pulling on the handle to his door and letting himself out.

Kageyama curses viciously under his breath and hurries, fingers fumbling, to do the same. His boots slip and crunch on the loose gravel below as he skids around the hood of his car, trying to catch up with the handyman before he can get away. “Hinata-!”

“Let’s just… go back to town,” Hinata calls back over his shoulder. Doesn’t turn around, doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t do anything more, just strides across the track, back straight and shoulders broad, up to where his Porsche has been left waiting.

Kageyama hovers, unsure of what to do. Does he chase or follow? Call out or stay silent?

There’s the distant roar of the Porsche’s engine flaring to life and a billow of dust, and then Hinata is rolling away, a beacon of yellow in the distance.

Kageyama stands there, the breeze pulling at his hair and his clothes, until he realises that the Cayman is rolling slowly, not speeding away _. Follow me_ , it says. Not running away.

He sighs, long and deep enough to rattle his lungs and smacks his palms against his face.

Alright, time to fix what he just broke, while he still can.

* * *

Hinata’s Porsche drives from the track back to town in one singular, smooth line, bumping up onto the road once it appears out of the dirt and rolling down Main Street. It stops, eventually, just outside Tanaka’s shop, at which point the engine shuts off and the handyman heaves himself out.

Kageyama quickly follows suit, killing his own engine and scrambling to get out of his car, leaving it parked haphazardly in the middle of Main Street. “Hinata-“

The handyman doesn’t reply once again, just stalks forwards, past the body art shop and straight to his work shed, tucked away down the side of the street. Emboldened by how he wasn’t being told to go away at least, Kageyama hurries to catch up, his chest juddering when he finally makes it to the other man’s side.

When he gets there, Hinata still isn’t looking at him, instead focused on the rope that holds the doors shut, fingers twisting over the knot. “I’m sorry,” Kageyama blurts, as his first point of call, unsure exactly what he was apologising for. Asking the question? Sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong? Making Hinata upset?

Curious brown eyes flick over to him momentarily, and still Hinata says nothing.

“You’re angry,” Kageyama elaborates.

“I’m not angry,” Hinata finally says, though his voice shakes just a bit.

Then Kageyama notices how his fingers tremble as they work themselves over the knot in the rope, sliding uselessly over the loops rather than tugging on them. He reaches out, covering Hinata’s hands with own (they’re a lot smaller than his – he’d never noticed before.) “Let me,” he murmurs.

“I’ve got it,” Hinata mutters, but the protest is weak, and he doesn’t complain any further as Kageyama slowly starts to pull at the knot until the strips of rope are falling free.

Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, Hinata flings open the doors to his work shed, forcing Kageyama to take a step back, and strides in.

The early evening light casts the shed in a deep shade of amber, illuminating the specks of dust that twirl through the air like dirty fireflies. Hinata heads straight for his desk and clicks on the lamp there, adding a further beam of warm yellow light to the streams of reds and oranges leaking in through the windows. Stretching up on his tiptoes, Hinata reaches for a box on the shelf above his desk, next to the collection of manuals, and takes it down, staring at it for a long moment.

Then, with a sigh, he takes off the lid, rummages around inside to pull out a few pieces of paper, and turns to pass them to Kageyama.

A deep frown of confusion creasing his brow, Kageyama steps forward to take the offered paper, glancing down at them. The first sheet makes his breath catch short in his chest.

It’s Hinata’s Porsche, wounded _._ The sides are heavily dented – the metal creaking inwards with gaps gaping between the body panels. At least one tyre has burst, and Kageyama thinks the whole wheel itself is damaged, curled at an angle it shouldn’t be. The roof is fine, as is most of the hood, save for a few creases along the metal and one shattered headlight. Not irreparable, and the car outside is proof of it, but still devastating to look at all the same.

“You were in a crash?” Kageyama whispers, faintly horrified. This was _not_ the answer he had envisioned, in any of the scenarios he’d thought of. The most common reason for leaving racing, and he never thought of it. It didn’t seem possible.

Hinata sighs, low and shaky, and rests both hands on his desk, leaning heavily on them and staring down at the wood, his eyes unseeing. “About two years ago,” he says, voice wavering and so, _so_ quiet, “yeah.”

Kageyama wrenches his eyes away from the photo, unable to look at it any longer. “What happened?” He asks softly. The distance between them suddenly feels farther than ever.

Another sigh, this time harsher. “I was working on the lighting at Vitoline’s track,” Hinata says, voice quiet still but losing some of its waver. “Completely normal job for me – just the usual work on some wiring. For any other handyman I’m sure it would’ve been a routine thing, in and out, no questions. Just another client, you know? But not me, that was my first time on a _real_ race track.” Hinata huffs, a tiny, sad little smile peeking up. “I’d just gotten my car, had no more money to afford any real racing opportunities that weren’t free or _really_ cheap. And, well… most of the work was after dark.”

“So you snuck in?”

“Yep. Brought my car one day instead of getting the bus. No-one asked any questions. I waited until I was the last guy there, fixing the wiring. It was just me and the security guard, and he didn’t care what happened as long as no-one went near the offices. So… soon as I could, I got my car… and ran a few laps.” The little smile stretches just a bit wider. “It was just me, and the stands were empty, but just for a while I could pretend I was _racing_ , you know? I really went for it too, gave it everything I had like I was going for a course record!”

Kageyama says nothing, shuffling a little closer to the handyman’s side, where he can see tiny balls of dust settling in fiery hair.

“Turns out, there was another guy there instead of the security guard. Mr Vitoline himself, up there in the offices. I finished a lap, and found him by the starting line – nearly fainted right there. I thought I was going to be arrested! And then… he made me an offer.”

“The Vitoline 400,” Kageyama supplies, brow creasing. Not unknown for the man. He frequently picked up new drivers to throw them into a race, always chasing the next big thing.

“Yep. I was… over the moon. Happiest I’d ever been, to be honest.” Hinata lifts his head a little, smiling with no warmth, his eyes dark and sad. “I’d never had a chance before, and suddenly here was a guy offering me a chance to drive in a real race? One with _sponsors?_ I couldn’t believe my luck. Signed right there and then, for the race which was in about two weeks after that.”

Hinata trails off, his hands curling into fists, clenching and unclenching. Wordlessly, he reaches up and plucks the photo of his damaged car out of Kageyama’s slack grip, sliding it across the desk without looking at it. Then he points at the sheet of paper that had been underneath it.

Kageyama glances down, and scowls, fingers clenching so hard he adds creases to the already wrinkled paper. It’s an article, clipped from a local newspaper, probably, with the headline missing – just a black and white photograph of Hinata’s crumpled Porsche and the redhead himself clambering out. The sight makes the vices around Kageyama’s heart ease slightly. The man seems well and healthy, but the first thought anyone has when they see an injured car is _what about the driver?_

He doesn’t look at the words next the photo, just raises his eyes and gazes at Hinata, waiting. He’d rather hear it from him. “Bad?” He prompts.

Hinata makes a strange, strangled sort of noise, one full of frustration and pain, and whirls suddenly away from his desk running his fingers through his hair irritably, sending it into a wild, blazing disarray. “I was terrible,” he spits out, back turned to Kageyama. “I guess the guy thought I’d raced before, what with the car, so he didn’t really do anything except put me down as Vitoline’s driver. I had one fitting for a suit and a helmet, they slapped some stickers on my car, and then it was time for the race. No prep time, no explanations… I was so excited at the time I didn’t think to ask questions. Then when the race came…” Hinata’s hands curl into fists by his sides. “I panicked. I can’t explain it away, I just did. I went from racing on empty streets and in hobby meets to being surrounded by guys who were professional. I had a _pit crew_ – and I didn’t even know any of their names! I’d never raced long enough to _need_ a pit stop, let alone know when they were or what happened…”

“They threw you into a professional race and didn’t even do a dummy pit stop with you?” Kageyama demands, flabbergasted. Granted, he’d been racing professionally since his late teens, and karts before then, so he’d always known. But for a newbie, who had never raced before… well, no wonder Hinata had panicked.

“As I said, I think I gave the guy the wrong impression,” Hinata snorts. He still won’t look back over at Kageyama. “I didn’t say anything, and he presumed. And it all went wrong from there. The first hundred laps weren’t so bad… spent all of them near the back, but I was getting the hang of it. Starting to overtake a bit. Then the guy starts yelling in my ear, telling me to hurry up, where was that speed from before… a whole bunch of stuff.” Hinata walks a little circle, pressing his forehead into his palms so that Kageyama cannot see his face. “So I… tried to hurry up.”

His voice catches here, tight and strangled into something thin and horrible and Kageyama finds his feet moving until he’s by the handyman’s side, hovering next to him, the papers in his hands slipping from his fingers to drift to the floor. “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to,” he blurts, mimicking Hinata’s words from earlier but stumbling over them, thick and clumsy.

Hinata drags in a hollow breath through his nose and releases it, repeats the pattern twice more before letting his hands drop from his face. Not looking at Kageyama, he shuffles forward until he reaches a section of the shed without any shelving on it, spinning on his heel until his back thumps against the wall. Then he slides down to sit on the dusty floor, resting his forearms on his knees, little clouds of dust dancing around him in the sunbeams. After a moment, he pats the floor next to him, and Kageyama takes the hint, moving to sit in the spot beside the handyman, wrapping his own arms around his shins.

“You should never rush an overtake… right?” Hinata says to the floor, and Kageyama winces.

“… You tried to go on the inside,” He guesses, recalling how the Porsche had been dented on both sides.

“… Yeah. Panicked, tried to take this guy on an opening that, really, wasn’t quite there. He spotted it, tried to block me out and… I didn’t move.” Hinata scrubs his fingers over his hair, staring into nothing. “And, well, the only place to go at that point was the wall.”

Kageyama hisses quietly between his teeth.

“I don’t remember much, it was so fast… just the _noise_.” Hinata’s breath catches, and the muscles in his forearms bunch as his hands curl up tight. “One minute I was trying to slip around a car, the next I was tumbling out trying and not to get run over before the marshals stepped in. I just remember staring at my car and trying not to throw up. I know that sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t,” Kageyama insists, immediately. He can relate all too well - the feeling of your stomach wanting to twist itself to ribbons at the sight of your pride and joy injured at the fault of your own hand.

Abruptly, Hinata lifts his head and sits a little straighter, leaning back until the back of his skull thunks gently against the wall. “My first race ended in a crash, and I didn’t exactly make much of a mark before then. Needless to say… Vitoline were not impressed.”

“Were _you_ okay?” Kageyama interrupts, suddenly needing to know before the story continued. When Hinata tilts his head to look at him, brow furrowed in confusion, he gestures vaguely at the handyman’s body.

“Oh,” Hinata says, realising. “I just broke my ankle.” He lifts his right leg in demonstration, wiggling his foot a little. “Had to have pins put in it. Still set off metal detectors sometimes,” he snorts, trying to inject in a small amount of humour, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “In hindsight, I was _really_ lucky. No concussion or anything, but it didn’t feel like that at the time.”

“I bet,” Kageyama murmurs, taking a moment to revel in the relief that Hinata had walked away with nothing more than a broken ankle. At over two hundred miles an hour, it could’ve very easily been far worse.

But it wasn’t just a broken ankle. It was a broken car, and a broken dream.

“Vitoline didn’t… sue you, or anything, did they?” Kageyama ventures, after a moment. There was nothing concrete that he knew of, but there were plenty of unsavoury rumours about some of their business practices.

“Nah. I thought they might, for the wasted time,” Hinata spits this last part out, “but in the end I just got chewed out in the medical tent while this paramedic strapped my ankle and I tried to remember what way was up. Then the guy stormed out, left me to sort out getting my car towed to a garage and everything. But… that was enough damage.”

Kageyama waits, for a long few minutes, until it seems Hinata isn’t going to volunteer anything further. The handyman sits there, head tipped back against the wall, staring at the contents of his work shed without really seeing any of it, looking… not sad, really. Or even angry, or bitter. Something like melancholy, maybe. Something wistful.

One of Kageyama’s hands leaves its place where it had been wrapped around his shin, and it hovers, unsure, before settling on Hinata’s knee.

Brown eyes blink down at it, before there’s a puff of breath, and Hinata continues to speak.

“I don’t know if the guy put in a bad word, or if my ‘performance’ was enough, but no matter how many people I tried to speak to after that, the door was slammed in my face. Even harder than it had been _before_ the race. As far as everyone was concerned, I was a guy with no prior experience, except for crashing after a risky overtake. After that… I threw myself into the only thing I knew I could do: work, fix my car, and attend any race meets I could. _Even_ the ones with fees. I had do _something_ to get myself a reputation.” Hinata pauses, and scrunches his eyes up tight, tilting his head away from Kageyama again, like he didn’t want him to see.

“… I got into so much debt, Kageyama.”

Kageyama doesn’t try to hide his wince, seeing as how Hinata’s not even looking at him, and his hand involuntarily tenses on the handyman’s knee. He can see it: the costs of repairing the Porsche, paying for the race meets Hinata had already admitted he couldn’t really afford in the first place. There was only so far the money he earned from fixing things could possibly be stretched.

It was cruel, really, how the racing world tilted so heavily in favour of those who started early, or who had the money and the connections.

“And then you left,” he surmises, quietly.

“And then I left,” Hinata confirms. “I didn’t get any further than the very lowest leagues, race wise, and no sponsor ever came for me. Eventually, I was going to be evicted, so… I threw everything I owned that I couldn’t sell in the car and…” he lets his head drift back to where Kageyama can see his face again and lifts his hands, gesturing at the space around them. “Here I am.”

The silence lulls over them again, solid and thick, as the sunbeams around them stain darker with the steadily sinking sun. Kageyama stares at the dust floating in the air, how it clings to the work tools and the racing gear alike, and mulls everything over. Hinata still races. Hinata still races _well_ , in fact. On a different stage, maybe, but nothing about it said Hinata had let the joy of racing leave his heart.

“But you didn’t quit,” he prompts, voice sure.

“Nope,” Hinata says, and for the first time since they got back into town, a true honest smile spreads its way over his face. It makes Kageyama feel warm again down to his toes. “Mind you, the first few days when I got here I felt like I had! I was… a mess, really. Everyone kind of banded together and lifted me up, even though I could only pay them in fixing a few things. Most of them never even asked what happened, or why I arrived like I had… they just made sure I was okay. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being grateful to them for that. In the end, only Mayor Ukai and Tsukishima really knew. They might still be the only ones, I’m not entirely sure how much they ever said.”

Kageyama thinks of Sugawara, who knew nothing, and thinks, perhaps, they had stayed quiet. “Why those two?”

“Ukai sat me down and frankly asked me what happened, about a week after I arrived. I think he was suspicious – he used to race too, you know.”

“He did?” Kageyama blinks, surprised.

“Yeah! Just little stuff, nothing major. His grandpa – the guy who owns the souvenir shop – used to race on the dirt tracks back when they were the major way to race. Guy has some amazing stories.” Hinata grins suddenly, a welcome burst of brightness. “Anyway, I think Ukai kind of… _knew._ And I hadn’t told my family anything because we had just gotten over everything with my Mum so I… spilled my guts for a good few hours. Then he said he had to make a few calls, and before I knew it, I was being given an invite for a dirt track racing meet next week and then was being shoved into Tsukishima’s office for another chat.”

Hinata glances over at him then, and Kageyama’s not sure what the other man sees in his face, but all of a sudden the redhead is spluttering a barely stifled bout of laughter. It’d be almost annoying, if the sound wasn’t so welcome.

“Geez, he _really_ isn’t your favourite person, is he?” Hinata snickers, and Kageyama’s already sour expression tightens up further. That was certainly an understatement. “Well, he wasn’t mine either at first. That first ‘chat’ felt more like a lecture than anything else, I nearly stormed out about five times. But… despite his bad attitude, Tsukki really does care for the town. He saw an opportunity to get a lot of things fixed that needed to be done… years ago, probably, and he offered me a deal. Do the jobs, and he’d sort the debt.”

“Is he a lawyer or a mafia boss?” Kageyama mutters darkly.

“I don’t ask questions,” Hinata replies in an equally low voice. “He arranged payment to pay off what I owed in return for the jobs, said I could stay in one of the houses here as long as I was happy to do it up myself and… off I went. Honestly, I could hardly believe my luck – everyone was so nice, and the jobs were a lot of work, but it all felt really rewarding, you know? Like I was really doing something useful.”

“So where did the dirt racing come in?”

“Ukai entered me in for one to cheer me up, I think. There’s two kinds, really. The ones for fun, and the ones with prize money. It was just a little hobby race in a town a few miles from here, all the locals go – loads of food and drink – and everyone watches whoever wants to throw their car around a track.” Hinata winks at him, his playful nature seemingly back in full force. “You should try it, you’d be awful.”

Kageyama lifts his hand from Hinata’s knee to take a swipe at his head, which Hinata dodges with a snicker.

“I just got hooked immediately,” Hinata says, once Kageyama had retracted his hand with a petulant scowl. “There was no pressure at all, and it was _racing._ I didn’t win, just kind skidded all over the place, really, but I went straight to Ukai and asked if I could join in whatever was next. I got dragged to Willy’s Butte instead, spent days trying to get the drift right before Ukai would enter me in anything. Once he was satisfied I could turn, he put me in for the better races. The ones with money.”

“So… you could pay off your debt _and_ race,” Kageyama finishes, putting two and two together. Of course. Then it dawns on him. “It was like… training.”

“For the ‘real’ thing?” Hinata asks, with a teasing smile, but he knocks his shoulder against Kageyama’s gently to show he means nothing by it. “Yeah… I think so. I’d never raced with other people before, and in dirt track racing… you sure do get up close and personal with people! No better way to learn how to overtake and turn, in my opinion, especially with the track working against you.” Hinata’s smile turns a little wicked, devious.

“I keep those,” He goes on to say, waving a hand at the photos that line the floor, the desk, of what happened all those years ago. “To remind me _never_ to let that happen again. I couldn’t overtake? Well I can now. Not used to long races? Done plenty of those too. Pitstops? … Eh, not official ones, but Noya is surprisingly good at changing tyres at speed.”

“That’s the plan, then?” Kageyama asks, feeling excitement start to thrill a little in his veins. “Pay off the debt, practice on the dirt, and then come back?”

Come back to the racing world.

(Come and find me.)

“Was,” Hinata corrects, going quiet again all of a sudden. “I was officially debt free as of two months ago.”

“You were?” Kageyama blinks, surprised. If that was the case, then why is he still here? It’s entirely possible, he supposes, that Hinata wants to get more practice in, but… he’s the dirt track _champion_ right? What else could he possibly want to achieve?

… Oh.

“The town,” He realises, staring off out of the still gaping doors to the shed, where the outlines of some of Karasuno Springs’ buildings could just about be seen.

“I can’t leave them,” Hinata says sadly, hunching around his knees a little. And he’s short, but the action marks the first time that Kageyama thinks the other man looks _small_. “I just can’t. They did… so _much_ for me, how can I leave them when their town is still like this?”

Kageyama can’t offer a response. His heart hums sadly, and he lets his head tip back against the wall like Hinata had done. He understands now. A few days ago, he couldn’t fathom it – staying in the middle of nowhere, with the potential of a career calling just across the horizon, but now he can. Now he’s witnessed the kindness of the people here first hand, he understands. “You ever tried?” He wonders.

“Once,” Hinata confirms. “Threw some stuff into a bag and left in the middle of the night, tried to see if I could go back to the city for a few days, enter some races maybe, and try again. Ended up feeling so guilty I turned back halfway. Tried to tell myself that it was because I hadn’t said a proper goodbye, but… that wasn’t the reason. It’s not that I don’t want to race, I _do_ , more than _anything_ , it’s just…”

“They’d let you go, Hinata,” Kageyama finds himself saying, before he can stop himself. “They’d _make_ you go, if they knew.”

Because they would, he thinks. If they had any inkling at all that staying in town was holding Hinata back from achieving his dream in any way, they’d pack his bags for him, the work needing doing be damned.

“… I know,” Hinata sighs into his knees. “And isn’t that the worst part?”

Once again, Kageyama has no reply to offer, and the silence stretches on, melancholy and lingering. Eventually, Hinata stretches out from his little ball beside him, letting his legs slide down flat against the floor and his head tip back until it was resting on the wall beside Kageyama’s. They sit there until the sunbeams across the floor darken deeper and deeper, until they start to shrink, and the only real illumination is from the dull yellow glow of Hinata’s desk lamp.

Kageyama lets his head tilt, until he was turned just enough that he can watch Hinata out of the corner of his eye. The other man looks… thoughtful. Like there was a great many things he had to ponder. It makes his face firmer, less spitting fire or glinting warmth, just steady hard lines and a deep gaze. Strange really, only a few days ago he’d thought the man was only capable of being annoying, now he’s finding himself wanting to sit here and stare, until the sun completely fades from the sky.

“Well,” Hinata suddenly says, abruptly jolting Kageyama from his thoughts and causing him to jump slightly. “It’s getting late.” He slaps his hands on his knees and rolls to his feet in one smooth motion. “You’d best get to bed so you can get away early tomorrow.”

Kageyama thinks of what he has planned, and whether it’ll work, and the day after tomorrow where everything he’s worked up to until now will all come to a head, and finds himself staring down at the dust streak floor as anxiety twists up inside him. After several days of moving so slowly, it was like everything all at once was suddenly hurtling along at a speed that left him dizzy.

It was like being in the fast lane and never getting off.

“Kageyama?”

Kageyama blinks at the sound of Hinata’s voice and looks up, to find the handyman frowning down at him, concerned. “You okay?”

“Do you think I can win?” He blurts out suddenly.

The race. The Piston Cup. _All of the things I want besides._

Brown eyes blink, then widen, startled. There’s a few beats where Hinata says nothing at all, just looks vaguely stunned, but before the knot in Kageyama’s belly can shrivel and rot in shame, he says, “of course you can.”

It’s said so simply, like Hinata was merely agreeing Kageyama could leave his work shed, and Kageyama feels his jaw drop just a little.

“It’s just Daishou and Romero, right?” Hinata continues, shrugging one shoulder and shooting Kageyama a crooked smile. “You’ve beaten them before, what’s one more race?”

“I suppose,” Kageyama mumbles, still stunned. He sits there and stares up Hinata and feels a little of that shame starting to grow again. Here he was, asking the handyman if he thought he could win the biggest tournament there was to win, when Hinata’s career was laid out in the memories of photographs and a car never allowed to fly.

“But you’re not going to win sitting down there,” Hinata says diplomatically, and he leans forward, holding out both hands.

Kageyama hesitates for a moment, before he slaps both palms into the redhead’s, and has to bite down on the squawk of surprise that threatened to come out when the shorter man pulls him to his feet easily.

Hinata snickers quietly under his breath, and darts away to switch off the lamp on his desk before Kageyama can grumble too much. The photos remain scattered, and Hinata seems to be in no hurry to collect them, striding out through the door and waiting for Kageyama to join him.

Standing out in the street again, in the twilight with just the slightest sliver of sun and that one useless traffic light the only illumination to see by, Kageyama stares up at the buildings that line Main Street. At the neon that clings to them, dark and dusty. Not for much longer.

Hinata locks up his shed behind him in quick order, and is soon walking up and past him, towards where his car was parked haphazardly on the road next to Kageyama’s. He’s twirling his car key absentmindedly around his index finger, staring at his Porsche but not moving to unlock it just yet. “Hey, Kageyama?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank-you.”

Kageyama blinks, utterly thrown. He stares at the other man’s back, uncomprehending. “For what?”

Hinata glances back over his shoulder at him, his eyes glinting brightly even in the dark.

“For listening.”


	8. Life Could be a Dream

Kageyama rises the next morning with the sun.

No-one is out on the streets when he strides from his room at the _Cosy Cone_ towards Bessie, who idles a mere few feet from the end of the ruined road. And, when he swings himself up into her cab, nobody appears when he fires up her engine and the loud, metallic moans start to rumble across the town. Sound travels far out here, he remembers Daichi saying, but it seems perhaps the townspeople are a little too far away to notice.

For a short while, there is nothing except Bessie’s endless creaks and groans and the horrible smell of melted tarmac dripping to the ground below. Inch by inch, metre by metre, the traffic signs that Hinata had set up at the beginning of the week by the end of the road edge closer. Until, eventually, the end of Bessie pulls up beside them and Kageyama flicks the kill switch to the engine for one final time.

He slumps back against his seat, the back of his shirt starting to stick to the old leather as the sun starts to creep up, and blows out a breath, ruffling his hair.

“Well… this was awful,” he says to Bessie, patting her control console. “I hated this. I never want to see you again. You’re slow and noisy and quite frankly, you stink.” He rubs his fingers along the switches and buttons across and panel and then twists in his seat to look at the stretch of perfectly laid, butter-smooth tarmac behind them.

“I guess you lay a nice road though. Good job.”

And with a grunt, he heaves himself from the old, peeling leather seat and drops down from Bessie’s cab for one final time, and gives her side a swift kick for good measure.

It’ll be years before he’ll get the smell of melted asphalt from his nostrils.

The sun has well and truly risen by the time Kageyama returns from his motel room for the second time. He’d gone back for a fresh shower, pulled on the last clean shirt he had been given (featuring an electric blue crow that issued a muffled squawk if you pressed the small button sewn into the fabric by its belly) and tossed his dirty clothing, including race suit, into a bag and thrown _that_ into his car, which he’d left by the motel. Nobody had tried to make him return it back to the impound last night.

Now all he had to do was return his room key, whenever he next saw Yachi or Shimizu, and then he’ll be good to go… once his last job was complete.

The _after_ makes his chest ache and his palms itch, so Kageyama forces it from his mind to focus on _today_ instead.

He’s just crossing Main Street, aiming for _The V8 Café_ , when he finds the owner standing at the end of the road, Daichi by his side, staring off into the distance with a face of mild despair.

“Uhh… Sugawara?” Kageyama ventures, wandering over as concern starts to nibble at him. Was there something wrong with the way he’d finished the road? Was he supposed to return Bessie somewhere? Put the roadwork signs away? “Is everything okay?”

The Café owner spins, eyes wide, and blinks at Kageyama for a few silent seconds before clutching at his upper arms with a cry. “You’re still here!”

“I… yes?” Kageyama replies, completely bewildered.

“We thought you’d _left_ us!” Sugawara wails, looking borderline hysterical.

“Not… yet?” Kageyama says weakly, boggling at the older man, completely unsure how to feel other than utterly, hopelessly, confused.

“Alright, Suga,” Daichi says, clamping a hand down on the café owner’s shoulder until the grey haired man eventually pries his hands off of Kageyama’s arms. “We probably should have figured Kageyama hadn’t left yet, seeing as his car is still over there by the Cosy Cone,” he says this last part musingly, as he stares over to where, indeed, the Corvette is still parked neatly on the driveway.

“Well!” Sugawara says abruptly, standing up straight and blooming up in a wide grin now that his panic seemed to be over, “at least you didn’t leave without saying goodbye!”

Kageyama fidgets, still baffled. Was he supposed to say something? He figured everyone wouldn’t have cared either way if he said anything before left or not – so long as the business owners had their invoices in order and the road was done. But perhaps…

“Don’t you need to get going, though?” Daichi interrupts suddenly, frowning. “Isn’t your big race tomorrow?”

“It is, but-“

Daichi’s hand claps down on Kageyama’s shoulder now. “Are you going to get lost getting back to the highway? Do you need an escort back? I can’t take you all the way to the Stadium, but I can get you as far as the highway-“

“I’m not going just yet!” Kageyama interjects loudly, horribly thrown by the sudden display of generosity and concern. He’s never, ever, going to get used to it, he doesn’t think, and he’s terribly touched by the gesture. Because _yes_ , he probably would’ve gotten lost, one straight road or not, and he makes a mental note to potentially ask the policeman’s assistance later, but for now-

“There’s… some things I need to do first.”

Sugawara and Daichi stand there, in perfectly polite silence, as Kageyama rattles off his plan in fits and bursts, hovering when he feels he’s overstepping and continuing when there’s no immediate protest. The two older man stand there, looking vaguely stunned, as Kageyama outlines his ideas and remain quiet up until the last question.

“So do you think you could distract Hinata today?” Kageyama blurts out, tongue thick in his mouth as he forces the words out. “That’s a lot to ask, I know, but-“

“ _Kageyama!”_ Sugawara hollers, once again going to reach for him, but Daichi clamps down on his wrists gently before he can. “I knew I was right about you!”

Kageyama gapes wordlessly at the café owner, whose eyes have gone distressingly misty. Right about… what, exactly?

“He means of course we will,” Daichi says instead, and his expression is suddenly so warm and almost affectionate, once the shock had eased away. “But are you sure you have enough time?”

“I have time,” Kageyama confirms, with a firm nod.

“Right! Well, I know exactly how to keep Hinata distracted,” Sugawara says, with a sudden devilish glint to his smile, though the shiny sheen to his eyes remain. “I’m always in charge of keeping him out of the picture for birthdays and things.”

“Hinata is nosy,” Daichi elaborates to Kageyama’s confused stare.

Kageyama snorts. “I bet he is.”

“I’ll go speak to the others,” Daichi says, and he wraps his hand briefly around Kageyama’s bicep to give it a firm squeeze before trotting off down the road, to the café where the townspeople usually gathered in the mornings.

“Hey.”

Kageyama turns from where he’d been watching the policeman leave to focus on Sugawara, who’s looking at him with a soft, unreadable expression. It makes Kageyama’s belly twist and flip pleasantly in way he’s entirely unused to.

“You don’t have to do this for us, you know that right? No-one expects anything.”

“I know,” Kageyama confirms, haltingly. “I want to. It’s no trouble.”

Sugawara hums and tilts his head, looking at Kageyama with a curious stare, though the soft expression remains. “Did Hinata tell you about our… history?”

“… He did.” Kageyama rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly, clearing his throat.

“I see.” Sugawara plants his hands on his hips and rocks on his feet, and some of that mist returns to his eyes. “Well, firstly I gotta say don’t feel too sorry for us. We all know the reasons why we don’t get as many visitors anymore, we’re not bitter about. Things change. But, having said that… you’re going to make a lot of people happy with this, Kageyama.” Sugawara lets his hands drop and starts to stroll slowly back to his café. “Looks like that bullheaded attitude of yours only extends to racing, huh?”

Kageyama blinks at the dirt by his feet, the rest of his body rendered useless by the weight of the words he had just heard. He stands there, in the desert sunshine and the breeze, as people start to filter in dribs and drabs towards _The V8 Café_ , and feels a little balloon of cheer start to puff up in his chest. It expands, slow and steady, until he feels like his entire body is made of air.

A small, pleased little smile wobbles its way across his face and, as it threatens to spread into a grin, he turns to head towards the courthouse.

* * *

“Ah, Kageyama!” Ukai calls when he pushes open the large oak doors to the main vestibule. “Good morning!”

The mayor is standing by the small desk that Yamaguchi had been occupying previously, gazing down at a sheet of paper in his hands. It seems his aide isn’t here today, or least, hasn’t shown up yet. Only Ukai is inside the grand building, silhouetted by the sunbeams coming in through the high windows.

“Morning,” Kageyama replies, and he wanders over to the older mayor. “I… finished the road.”

“Did you now? Ukai grins, sharp and pleasant. “Good! Thank-you for that,” and Kageyama is surprised at the genuine gratitude in the man’s voice, “and I would ask kindly that if you ever decide to visit us again to next time abide by the speed limit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kageyama says wryly. “Did the-“

“Just picked it up,” Ukai confirms, holding up the paper he was examining. “This is the invoice, which I suppose I should give to you, seeing as you paid for it.”

“Ah, that’s okay, I don’t really need it.”

Kageyama glances away from the mayor and the invoice, as he catches sight of several large boxes littered around the vestibule. The turnaround had been surprisingly fast, as Ukai had promised, and he finds himself thinking back to the conversation he was having with the mayor only just yesterday.

-

“…You okay kid?”

“I’m fine. It’s just, there’s something I wanted to do… I wanted to fix your neon,” Kageyama blurts, and curses himself inwardly for his clumsy offering. The mayor blinks at him, seemingly dumbfounded, and he licks his lips irritably, before blowing out a breath and trying again. “It’s just… Hinata told me about it. How you guys can’t fix it because it’s too expensive. And… and why you weren’t getting many visitors these days.”

He shuffles his feet against the worn marble floor and rubs the back of his neck. “I thought this place was nothing more than an empty dustbowl full of people who just wanted an easy life, I didn’t… I didn’t _realise._ And,” he lifts his head but still avoids Ukai’s gaze, turning to look over his shoulder where Main Street can just be seen through the windows past the office door, “I was thinking about what it used to look like… before. And I think I want to see it.”

 _And I want everyone else to see it one more time, too._ He doesn’t add, because his tongue gets too thick in his mouth and halts the words.

Ukai stares him with a piercing gaze for a minute or two, so Kageyama swallows thickly, forces his mouth to move and just starts to ramble. About how he’s not _rich_ , exactly, but he’s got money he certainly doesn’t spend, so he might as well spend it on something (someone) important and-

Then Ukai barks a laugh, sudden and loud in the quiet of his office. “Okay, okay!” He says, holding a hand up to stop the stream of words. “I get it. Wow, you really are one strange guy, Kageyama,” he chuckles, shaking his head with bemusement. “But I gotta say? _This_ , I cannot turn down.”

He reaches out and claps a firm hand on Kageyama’s shoulder, strong and warm. “Let’s make that happen, shall we?”

Kageyama perks up, pleased. “We can?”

“Yeah, I know a guy. I’ve spoken to him before about getting the neon replaced a bunch of times, but, well… something else came up every time that the money was better put towards.” Ukai lifts his hand from Kageyama’s shoulder to rub his chin thoughtfully. “He’s probably got everything in stock, so I should be able to get it all here by tomorrow… that’s when you have to leave, right? Once you’ve finished the road of course.”

“That’s right,” Kageyama confirms, and tries to ignore the unpleasant squirming in his belly at the thought.

“Well then!” Ukai claps his hands together. “Let’s get started. If you’re sure, that is?”

“I’m sure,” Kageyama replies to the searching stare, and strides forwards, past the mayor to where a phone sits on his cluttered desk. “So I guess the first thing to do would be to call the bank…”

It’s almost disconcertingly easy to have the money transferred to the Karasuno Springs’ treasury account, and Kageyama wonders vaguely if he should be expecting a call from the fraud department later. He’s never dropped so much money on something that wasn’t for his car before.

Still, he thinks, as he watches Ukai’s face crease up happily as he makes the next call to the neon salesman, the dip in his bank balance is definitely going to be worth it.

-

“So!” Ukai’s voice interrupts, dragging Kageyama firmly back into the present. “I guess I’ll just call Hinata and…”

“Wait,” Kageyama interjects suddenly, stumbling forwards. “Is it possible it can be installed without him…?”

The mayor tilts his head at him, clearly confused. “Without…?” Then the confusion fades, as realisation sharpens in his eyes. “Ah. A surprise for Hinata too, is it?” He asks, the smile on his face turning a touch wicked.

“Something like that…” Kageyama mumbles.

“Well, sure! I mean, we put it all up ourselves before he came along in the first place! We can manage. If you can get Hinata out of the way, that is. He’s a little nosy.”

“So I’ve heard,” Kageyama snorts. “Sugawara has that covered.”

“Is that so? Well alright! Most of the tubing should still be okay, so it’s just a few parts here, and a few replacement tubes there… if most of the town come together we should be able to get it all fixed by tonight. It’s been a few years, but it’s not our first time doing this.” Ukai’s sharp grin softens then into something warmer, thankful. “And I think I speak for everyone when I say we will never forget this time in particular. Thank-you, Kageyama.”

Kageyama has no words to reply with, as a combination of happy embarrassment worms through him and holds him tight, so he settles for trying not to fidget too much as he shakes the mayor’s hand and hopes his smile is sufficient.

* * *

“ _Kageyama!”_

Kageyama jolts violently as the doors to the courthouse swing closed behind him, finding himself face-to-face with Nishinoya and Tanaka, who are crowding themselves close and looking rather emotional.

“You’re still here!” Tanaka cries, dangerously close to becoming weepy.

“Of course he is!” Nishinoya wails back, smacking the bald man on the upper arm with the back of his hand. “He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye! Would you, Kageyama?”

“I guess… not?” Kageyama replies slowly, thoroughly bewildered. Was _everyone_ going to be like this today? He hopes not – it’s a little… overwhelming. “Didn’t Sugawara speak to you at the café?”

“He said he was going to distract Shouyou so we could put the neon back up!” Nishinoya confirms, popping both thumbs up. “And then he did mention you but we were-“

“Already heading out to make sure you didn’t just go!” Tanaka finishes. “We saw the road was finished – beautiful job my man, by the way – and we had to check!”

“… Oh,” Kageyama mumbles, still floored. “I… okay. Well, I’m still here.”

“So you are! Noya, I’ll never doubt your instincts again…”

“As you’re both here,” Kageyama interrupts loudly, eager to cut this off before it got terribly awkward. It was flattering, certainly, but he already felt as though he’d been embarrassed enough in the last hour as it is. “I, uh, actually needed something from the two of you.”

“More than a couple of expert neon installers?” Nishnoya asks, flexing a bicep.

“That too. But I was thinking more along the lines of a new set of tyres and a paintjob… if the offer is still available.”

Both Tanaka and Nishinoya are rendered, for the first time, completely and utterly silent, for a whole two minutes as they simply gawp at Kageyama in unfiltered shock.

“Perhaps those whitewalls?” Kageyama prompts, looking down at the tyre salesman.

Nishinoya’s eyes go from wide and misty to sharp and glinting in milliseconds. “Of course!” He hollers, “I knew you were always a man with taste. Ryuu, go see Ukai to get that neon up. I’ll swap with you later. Kageyama-“ Nishinoya faces him head-on with a brilliant, determined smile. “Go fetch that car of yours. We’re gonna make her _shine.”_

The interior of _Casa Della Tires_ was a lot classier than Kageyama had envisioned it would be. There’s a wide entrance near the front for cars to be driven into, next to a normal door for foot traffic, and he rolls his Corvette through the space into a designated bay inside the building, as per Nishinoya’s directions.

Lush, red-brown wood, varnished to a perfect shine, line the floors and the walls. Sunlight streams in from the windows, the inside glowing warm and welcoming. Photos and artwork of classic European cars, mostly Italian, line the walls, except for the one that was lined floor to ceiling in tyres.

The space inside is wide and spacious, the floor clear to allow a car or two to slip inside easily. There’s a small sales desk tucked into the corner, and a backdoor that presumably leads to the storeroom, but otherwise the shop resembles a particularly fancy car showroom. Kageyama backs his car into the bay neatly, and shuts off the engine to step out, peering around him with an intrigued hum.

“Did you take these photos?” He asks, as he looks around at the framed pictures while walking slowly through the space to where Nishinoya was waiting by the tyre display. Each photo has a small note of the date near the bottom, handwritten.

“I did!” Nishinoya replies, clearly pleased he had noticed. “I spent a lot of time in Europe when I graduated high school – Italy in particular. Camera was kind of shoddy, so they aren’t great but… a beautiful car is a beautiful car, right?”

Kageyama hums his agreement. “You seem to like Ferraris.”

“Best cars in the world,” Nishinoya sighs dreamily. “I’d give my left arm to drive one. I still watch the European circuits on tv, you know, just to watch them. But… maybe I should start watching the home races too. Maybe I’ll see you!” The tiny older man gives him a friendly smack on the arm and gestures wide at the wall of tyres. “Now then! What are we thinking?”

There are plenty of styles and brands to choose from, and even though Nishinoya doesn’t see many customers, every tyre in the shop is kept in perfect condition. It doesn’t take long for him to select the white walled tyres he likes the best – the tread is still black, but the walls are a perfect ivory, with a solid silver hub cap in the middle.

“Beautiful choice!” Nishinoya simpers. “Now step back, and watch a man in action.”

Folding his arms, Kageyama settles back as he watches with interest as this small, middle-aged man darts off with impressive speed into his storeroom. He returns in quick order, pushing a trolley with four wrapped tyres on it, and within a few scarce minutes, he has them all unwrapped and ready to install.

The bay that the Corvette is parked on has a small switch on the wall beside it, which Nishinoya hits gleefully. There’s a clunk, and then the panels on the floor reveal themselves to be loose, as a small platform levers out beneath them. It pushes at the underneath of the Stingray, hoisting it a few inches into the air, leaving the tyres dangling off the ground so they can be changed.

“Prepare to be amazed,” Nishinoya says excitedly, brandishing a wheel bolt gun. “I call this… _rolling thunder."_

Kageyama has been in many pitstops, seen many pitstops, but even his jaw drops a little in awe as Nishinoya scampers between each tyre, pulling off the old black ones and replacing them with the new. He’s remarkably deft and almost flamboyant, even rolling a couple of times between each tyre. In almost no time at all, the Corvette is newly dressed in four gleaming white walled tyres.

“That was… impressive,” Kageyama admits, eyes shining, and he gives Nishinoya a little clap, who beams happily and bows a little at the applause.

“Oh it’s been too long since I got to do that,” the tyre salesman sighs when he straightens, feigning brushing away a tear. “Thanks.”

Kageyama fills out another invoice for the tyres as Nishinoya levers his car back down and ensures the new wheels are buffed to a perfect shine. Then there’s a very vigorous handshake as Nishinoya thanks him again for his business, and the Corvette is rolling out onto Main Street for the next stage.

“Right!” Tanaka says once Kageyama’s car is situated in the middle of his studio. “What are we thinking?”

In comparison to Nishinoya’s immaculate showroom style shop, the House of Body Art is decidedly… messier. It’s larger – with a foyer at the front with the hood displays and the service desk, then it splits off into two rooms. One seems to double as an office and a drawing space, the other was the studio itself.

Wide and large to accommodate not only a car, but a vast array of paint and tools as well, the space is splattered with old paint and old sheets are laid out everywhere. It has a very chaotic feel to it, with everything scattered around so haphazardly.

“Not too different from how it is,” Kageyama says, once he’s finished looking around.

For as long as he can remember, his car has been blue. Always this same hue. Part of the reason he selected this particular Corvette was because it came in the correct shade of blue. His grandfather has painted his cart his favourite colour when he was young, and then it became almost tradition. Kageyama’s had a few liveries over the course of his facing career, but the base colour is one thing he always puts his foot down on.

(He’s not looking forward to this same conversation with Dinoco – whose cars are always sky blue – if he ever lands a sponsorship with them.)

“I figured you’d say that,” Tanaka chuckles. “Well, how about this? I can mix up some paint that’s that same colour… but with sparkle to it. How about that? And then I can re-do all these decals because they are, in my humble opinion, _very_ ugly. No offence.”

“None taken, I agree,” Kageyama shrugs. He’s always hated the Power Curry logo – it’s old and dated, and is at odds with the way the angular number twenty has been painted. “Sparkle?”

“Mmm! Like the hoods there!”

Kageyama turns his gaze to a couple, seemingly unfinished, hoods that were propped up against the wall. Now he’s looking closer, the paint does seem to shimmer in the light. “Sure, alright,” he agrees, with a nod. “Can we keep everything else matte though?”

“Speaking my language!” Tanaka hollers gleefully. “Alright, I’m gonna go draw up some designs for those logos, I’ll be right back!”

Kageyama hums his understanding, and wanders around the studio as the artist bustles off.

He’s just eyeing a photograph pinned to wall above several cans of paint when Tanaka returns a short while later. “Who’s this?” He asks curiously.

The photo consists of what looks like the shop’s opening day, featuring a much younger Tanaka – one with hair – standing next to a blonde lady, both of them with matching grins.

“That’s my older sister, Saeko,” Tanaka says as he heads over, a few sheets of paper in his arms. “She used to race motorbikes, you’d like her! Doesn’t anymore more, just fixes ‘em these days. I used to watch her race all the time… still keep up with the motorbike racing in general when I can. But maybe I should watch your series now too, especially if you’re racing with my paintjob!”

Kageyama takes in that broad smile on the artist’s face and feels a small one of his own tick up at the corner. Seems like he had two people who would watch him now.

Tanaka brandishes out his sketches, and Kageyama leans in to take a look, eyebrows ticking up in surprise at the skilful depictions. The sketches of his car were rough, but a perfect rendition of its outline, with a few designs of the main Power Curry logo and different ways of writing the number twenty. He selects the ones he likes, and then is shooed out from the studio.

“Paint gets _everywhere_ , dude, sorry,” Tanaka apologises as he’s ushered back out into the foyer. “I won’t be long, promise!”

Kageyama busies himself with staring at the various hood displays in the window and the various photos around the foyer of previous customers, when eventually the door to the studio is flung open, and Tanaka is beckoning him back inside. The artist is splashed with a disconcerting amount of paint, most of it blue, and Kageyama becomes slightly relieved he wasn’t there to witness the actual painting after all.

When he steps back into the studio, he stops dead, stunned. “Oh… _wow,”_ he breathes, in deep awe.

The Corvette is still the same, deep blue it always was, but now it shimmers. The paint glitters with tiny spots of sparkle, the effect mesmerising as Kageyama steps forward and walks a slow circle around his car. The old logos had been scrubbed off, with large, round and curvy number 20s in matte white emblazoned across the hood and doors. Behind the number on each flank was the Power Curry logo – done up to look like something from a comic book, bold with a pop-art feel. The colours striking against the deep blue.

“It looks incredible,” Kageyama murmurs, taking in the way the white of the numbers matches the shade of the tyres. How even the smaller stickers and logos were still there, but tucked away by the wheel arches. It looked so much sleeker – flashy, but in a way that grabbed your attention.

“I know right?” Tanaka preens, thrilled. “I gotta say though man,” he adds as he walks up to Kageyama’s side and claps a hand on his shoulder. “This is the most beautiful car I’ve worked on in years, thank-you for letting me have the honour of painting it.”

Kageyama blinks at the earnest words, and silently reaches up to pat the artist’s shoulder in turn, solid with gratitude.

“Now if you can find a way to help me convince Hinata to paint his car? We’re gonna be set for life, Kageyama.”

“Oh, if I find out a way of getting rid of that yellow I will absolutely let you know.”

With his car complete, Kageyama makes his next stop back at the Cosy Cone, in order to return his key. Yachi and Shimizu are both at the office when he returns, and he makes sure to thank them both, and dutifully fills out a customer survey when Yachi nervously slides one over to him. He then asks for a box of fliers, for anything related to the motel or the surrounds, to take with him, and almost retracts the offer when Yachi nearly bursts into tears at the request.

Just as Shimizu is sliding a box over to him, laden with leaflets, her own eyes misty behind her glasses, the door to the motel slides open and Asahi is strolling through.

“Ah, Kageyama, there you are!” He greets with a relieved smile. “Suga sent me – he reckons we’ve got about another hour or so before Hinata’s finished with his jobs and the neon’s set up.”

“Oh, great!” Kageyama replies, shuffling the box in his arms. “I just need to go to the souvenir shop and see if I can find something less…” He pauses, not wanting to offend the locals he was surrounded by. But really, his outfit is hideous. He doesn’t completely trust Hinata that there wasn’t something better in that shop, given the man’s devilish nature.

“Less tacky?” Yachi pipes up beside him, smiling brightly. “It’s okay, we all know they’re awful. Some people like that though.”

“Asahi, you’re about the same height as Kageyama right?” Shimizu asks, as Kageyama gapes. “Could he borrow something?”

“The souvenir shop really is as bad as you think it is,” Yachi tells him, her smile getting a touch sympathetic.

“Of course he can,” Asahi says warmly, after a moment. He steps up to Kageyama’s other side, seemingly to measure himself against him. The fire safety officer is a little broader, but they’re about the same height, give or take an inch. “I’ll fetch some things. If you want to, that is…?”

“That would be great,” Kageyama blurts, trying not to sound too desperate. He was going to burn these jeans as soon as he could.

Asahi chuckles and agrees to meet him back at the motel in thirty minutes. Depositing the box of fliers in his car, Kageyama trots down the road with Yachi by his side – who had offered to help him find a shirt that wasn’t a gaudy mess – to the souvenir shop.

Old Man Ukai, as the town seemed to call him, was truly ancient. Old and wrinkled and wizened, he was fast asleep in a chair in the back of his shop, behind the counter. An old radio sits next to him, unplugged.

“Let’s just grab some stuff and go, we can pay him later,” Yachi whispers. “Let him sleep. He gives the mayor headaches if he’s up and about too much.”

Kageyama eyes the old man and nods his agreement. Seemed like the safest option. He finds himself selecting a few bumper stickers for the back of car that displayed the town and the surrounds in a tasteful way, making note of their prices. Then Yachi pops up again beside him, the older woman holding out a dark grey t-shirt with the mountains pressed upon in black.

“The only one without logos,” she chirps.

“Perfect,” Kageyama sighs in relief, and takes it.

By the time they return to the motel, Asahi was already there, along with Daichi. The fire safety officer hands him a pair of dark jeans and a soft leather jacket, eyes crinkling up at the corners merrily when Kageyama babbles his thanks.

“Go get changed, and then we’ll get set up,” Daichi tells him with a grin. “It’s nearly time to light up!”

* * *

The population of Karasuno Springs is tiny, but somehow the small gaggle of people huddled around the centre of Main Street makes Kageyama feel just as nervous as he does in front of a full stadium. He fidgets in place as Tanaka and Nishinoya fiddle with the old radio they’ve got set up outside the souvenir shop beside him, and tries not to pull too hard on his borrowed clothes.

Then he hears a low rumble of an engine, and in the distance, Hinata’s Porsche appears and stops, just at the end of Main Street. There’s a splutter as the engine dies and the headlights flick off, and then Hinata himself is clambering out, along with Sugawara, who tumbles out of the passenger side.

“Suga, _what_ is going on?” Hinata’s voice echoes down the road, tight and snippy with impatience, and Kageyama’s belly flips nervously.

“It’s a surprise!” Sugawara’s voice lilts back, sing-song.

The two men get closer, and Tanaka and Nishinoya subtlety shuffle in front of Kageyama to try and shield him from view. It sort of works, but Kageyama is taller than the pair of them, and he can easily see over the tops of their heads as Hinata and Sugawara get nearer.

It seems Sugawara has gone one step further than Kageyama originally intended, and instructed Hinata to get changed as well. Instead of his usual work overalls or his ridiculous meat themed t-shirts, the redhead is dressed in a neat dark button-up and soft cotton shorts. Similar to what he wore for when he took Kageyama to see the stars, if slightly more formal. The dark colours accentuate the brightness of his hair and the glow of his tanned skin and Kageyama feels every drop of saliva in his mouth dry up all at once.

“Yeah, I gathered, that’s why you’ve had me do jobs at the houses all day and then dress up,” Hinata says, moodily, a sulking pout creasing his face. “ _Why_ , though?”

“Well…” Sugawara draws out, as the two of them reach the small group gathered in the middle of the road. The townspeople wave at Hinata cheerfully, who wags a hand back at him them dutifully while still frowning up at the café owner, still visibly unimpressed.

“ _Tada!”_ Nishinoya sings out suddenly, and then there’s a hand being pushed at Kageyama’s back as the small tyre shop owner darts behind him and _shoves_ , until he’s stumbling out of the crowd and in front of Hinata.

For a moment, there is silence, as Kageyama trips over his own feet and tries to remember how to stand without his knees folding in on themselves.

_“Kageyama?”_

Cheeks burning, Kageyama straightens slowly and clears his throat. He’s greeted by round, surprised big brown eyes as Hinata openly gapes at him, seemingly in shock. “Err, hey,” he grunts.

“You didn’t leave,” Hinata mumbles at him, looking stunned.

The heat in Kageyama’s face fades away in indignation. He can understand the townspeople being surprised he was still hanging around (sort of, the constant string of shocked reactions was starting to make him think otherwise) but from Hinata it’s almost a little insulting. Did the handyman really think he was going to leave with no parting words whatsoever after _yesterday?_ “You thought I just left?” He asks, moodily.

“I don’t know!” Hinata protests, suddenly springing back to life again, waving his hands animatedly as he frowns irritably. “You have a _race?_ A really big, really _important_ race? And then the road was finished and I couldn’t see your car so of _course_ I thought you were gone! Idiot!” He rants furiously, and then whirls to face Sugawara suddenly, who just smiles at Hinata innocently. “I thought _you_ were just making me fix stuff at the houses to distract me!”

“I was,” Sugawara quips happily.

Hinata blinks at the café owner, before groaning and spinning to face Kageyama again, stepping up close to stab a finger into chest. “I spent all day pissed off that you didn’t say goodbye!” His face is twisted up in something between a sulk and the beginnings of a smile, paradoxically. Like he couldn’t decide whether he still wanted to be mad or not.

“I’m sorry?” Kageyama grumbles at him, torn between being irritated at this assault on his character and also feeling like someone had tipped lava into his veins at the thought that Hinata was _this_ cross he had potentially left without saying goodbye. “It would’ve ruined the surprise, though,” he points out diplomatically, and watches with relief as the angry lines in Hinata’s shoulders and face finally smooth away.

“A surprise, huh?” The handyman hums at him, seemingly appeased, and then runs his fingertips lightly over Kageyama’s shirt – who does his best not to let the fire in his blood combust on the spot as he does so. “Nice outfit,” Hinata chirps, and Kageyama gawps for a minute at a comment that, for once, completely lacks any teasing. He doesn’t even mention the t-shirt.

Brown eyes swivel up to him, sticky warm and waiting, and Kageyama forces his tongue to mould around words. “Ah… and you.” The smile on the redhead’s lips stretches wider, and, anticipating that the gremlin within cannot be contained for much longer, Kageyama whirls abruptly to head it off, and points dumbly at his car, still sitting proudly by the side of the road.

“The car too,” he says, dumbly, and then smacks his palm against his face.

This was not going how he imagined in his head.

 _“Ohh!”_ Hinata breathes, however, leaning around Kageyama, his voice soft and wondrous as he finally spots the Corvette. “Kageyama… it looks amazing!”

Kageyama lets his hand fall away and stares, dumbfounded in his surprise, as Hinata dances away from him to hover and bob by the Corvette excitedly, running his hands over the new paintwork and the decals. In the corner of his eye, he sees Sugawara slink over to where the rest of the townspeople are still gathered, all of them quiet, save for the odd murmur. He takes in the sly smiles on most of their faces and squirms. The sight makes the tips of his ears burn, and Kageyama stalks over to where Hinata is cooing over his car still, his shoulders rigid and heavy with his embarrassment. The quicker they get to the surprise, the better.

“Do you think they’ll make you change it back?” Hinata asks as soon as nears.

“I hope not,” Kageyama grunts, honestly. The tyres he will definitely have to, the white walls will certainly not meet regulations, but the paintwork he should be allowed to keep. He’s loathe to change it now, honestly, and he lets himself drag his fingers over the Stingray’s hood, marvelling once again at how the sparkles in the blue paint blend into the bold white number twenty so easily.

Hinata makes a soft noise under his breath and bobs around the car, taking in the details and even peering in through the windows, where the boxes of various items can just about be seen on the backseats. “Looks like you’ve helped everyone in town,” Hinata observes quietly, at a volume that only Kageyama can hear, and he peers over the roof of the Corvette at him with a smile, eyes a soft and gooey pudding-brown.

Kageyama feels his heart trip over itself in his chest and he clears his throat to help get his lungs working in rhythm again. “Well,” he says slowly, “everyone except one.”

The handyman tilts his head, confused, but before he can chicken out and flee in his car, Kageyama spins on his heel and motions frantically at Nishinoya. The small man doesn’t react at first, leaning on top of the radio sitting on a stool outside the souvenir shop’s porch with a stupid smile on his face. And then Tanaka leans in and digs his elbow into his side.

With a jolt, Nishinoya stands up straight, flicking the switch on the radio. Nothing happens. Tanaka frowns at it, before thumping his fist against the top. There’s a crackle, a horrible burst of static, and then the radio shudders into life, jaunty music flowing from the speakers. Tinny at first, but then Nishinoya twirls a few knobs and the sound smoothens, until it hangs around the street in cheerful little bursts.

“Oh good, Ukai’s radio works,” Hinata says, rounding the Corvette to stand next to Kageyama, who resists the incredible urge to stuff something into that smart mouth.

Instead, he raises his eyes to the sky, steadily getting darker as the sun starts to sink lower and lower, the reds fading into deep purples. It should be dark enough now… he lowers his chin, to find Tanaka holding two cables aloft. The artist gestures with them and raises his eyebrows, waiting, and Kageyama gives him a confirming nod.

The cables connect, there’s a soft fizz of electricity as it sparks along the wires, and then…

Karasuno Springs starts to light up.

Tanaka’s shop goes up first – the tall spire that makes up the centrepiece of the roof illuminated in stripes of bright greens and purples; the artist’s name up in lights. Tanaka grins at it, the lights shining merrily off his head as the strips of neon burst into life around the hood displays in the window.

Across the street, Nishinoya’s shop lights up next, in whites and reds and deep greens, the colours dancing off of the looming tower of tyres. Nishinoya dashes over, beaming, and presses a button by the tower, causing a small cascade of tiny lights to blink on as the trails of fairylights that are draped across the tyres and loop back to the shop start to twinkle.

The music sings along, bright and melodious as a quartet of singers start to croon in the recording – it’s an old song, but one that feels right at home, and Kageyama touches Hinata’s elbow to guide him to look down the other end of the street, towards the courthouse. The handyman’s expression is undiscernible, soft and open, as the smaller shops, even devoid of owners, spark into life. Small signs and logos light up in every colour of the rainbow, dancing down the street and bathing the deep black of the new road in a kaleidoscope.

Then there’s another soft fizz, and Hinata turns in tandem with Kageyama as Sugawara cheers.

The V8 Café is the largest property with the most neon, and as each strip zips into life, Kageyama feels his own jaw drop. The roofs of the gas station and the café itself spring up in lines of soft blues and sugar pinks, streaming together until the large _V8_ logo at the centre shines bright. The neon flickers in and out in a beat, a rhythmic pulsing that almost seems to dance to the music, as _The V8 Café_ twinkles for its customers for the first time in years.

Further down the street, the rest of the buildings light up one by one, ending in the _Cosy Cone_ , the last business on the strip, as its titular sign fizzles up in a deep orange. The sleeping car in the middle a rich blue as it breathes out blinking red Zs. Across the street, Yachi clasps hands with Shimizu, both of their eyes shiny as their motel glows a warm sunset orange.

The music continues to sing, but is drowned out as the townspeople start to cheer and clap, as their town finishes coming back to life, the neon shining out proud once more.

“You fixed their neon…” Hinata breathes out next to him, and the strangle in his voice makes Kageyama tip his chin down, away from the dancing colour around them, to gaze down at him.

The handyman is looking back up at him, eyes wide like he’s never seen him before. Colour shifts and blinks across his face, in every possible shade except for the brown of his eyes, which seem to twinkle even brighter than the neon. Kageyama takes in his wondrous face, every part of it slack in sheer, uncomprehending awe, and feels a small smile pull at the corner of his mouth. Then it spreads, infectious as the town’s joy seems to seep through him, bathed in the neon lighting, blooming until he’s smiling wide.

“Like their heyday, right?” He murmurs.

Hinata stares up at him, unblinking, before he allows his gaze to sweep over Main Street. Slowly, the shock gives way, bit by bit, until unbridled, unrestricted joy filters in, lighting him up brighter than the whole town. He laughs, as if he can’t keep the emotions inside, and raises a trembling fist to his still giggling mouth, head turning this way and that as he tries to take in all of the buildings at once. “It’s even better than I ever imagined,” he whispers, his voice almost drowned out by the music and the townspeople. “… Thank-you.”

Happiness, strong and powerful, wraps around Kageyama’s chest and squeezes tight, forcing all the air out and strangling off his words. Unable to reply, he settles for a hum, lost to the sound of the radio.

When the idea came to him, of returning the neon to a town who could not afford it, he’d originally wanted to repay a little of that kindness back. Karasuno Springs didn’t have to do anything for him, this entire week. He’d crashed into their town and wrecked their property, and swung an attitude around in desperate attempt to leave just to further his own career. But instead of staying distant and angry as Kageyama fixed what he’d broken, they had reached out, with hospitality and a genuine warmth he had never felt from strangers.

They had no idea who he was, weren’t seeking anything from him, and welcomed him regardless. It was easy to see why Hinata had fallen for them, for their town and the surrounds, and why it broke his heart to think of leaving them. Love and joy were etched into every inch of Karasuno, no matter how many buildings were empty or things left unfixed. The bustle may have left the town, but the life still remained.

Kageyama cannot stay, and he cannot turn back time, but he can return a little of those years to them – of a time when customers lined the streets, and there was music and laughter and neon every night.

He takes in Hinata’s face, at the way he watches the people of the town that adopted him, how pure joy seems glow out from every pore, and feels like maybe this the best idea he’s ever had in his life.

Another noise ripples through the air, of an old but well-loved engine, and then Tanaka’s Chevrolet Impala – back to its orange purple with the flames blazing down the sides – eases down the road from the artist’s shop to roll onto Main Street, the chassis slung down low.

“Let’s cruise!” Tanaka hollers through his open window, and a few of the townspeople scatter.

Kageyama watches, in bafflement and endeared amusement, as classic cars of all kinds seemingly pop out of the woodwork as the people of Karasuno Springs fetch their cars – parked all along the sides of Main Street, hidden by the buildings, and drive them out onto the new road.

Nishinoya’s Fiat bumbles along happily behind Shimizu’s classic sports car, and even Asahi arrives in a vintage fire engine, the scarlet paintwork immaculate. Daichi seems to opt out of fetching his old (and noisy) police car, instead helping Yachi set up a table as Yamaguchi trots over with paper cups and pitchers of drink. Ukai arrives from the courthouse in a gleaming, dark blue Hudson Hornet, and Kageyama can’t help but whistle appreciatively at the classic race car _(“I told you – he used to race,”_ Hinata whispers in his ear.) Sugawara turns up in the flashiest of them all, a modified Buick that resembles an old Motorama Show Car. It’s pale green and long, low slung like Tanaka’s Impala, with impressive tailfins on its rear.

“Where did he get _that?”_ Kageyama wonders, as Sugawara eases up to Tanaka’s car and both vehicles start to cruise down the street side by side, the neon bouncing off their bodywork.

“He changes the story every time I ask,” Hinata replies fondly. There’s a beat, as the pair of them watch the townspeople begin their impromptu street party, before the handyman swivels his gaze up to Kageyama. “So are we gonna join them or what?” He asks with a grin.

“Oh,” Kageyama mumbles, suddenly feeling crushingly awkward all over again. He was no good with any of this. His eyes skip over the drink stand – writing that off immediately – and to Hinata’s Porsche. If the other man wants to cruise, he would feel more comfortable driving than being a passive passenger, so he drags his eyes away from the Cayman and strides over to his Corvette. He flings open both doors, and bobs his head at the passenger side. “Get in then.”

Hinata beams at him, and Kageyama tries valiantly to ignore the heat that prickles in his cheeks as he eases himself into his car and fires up the engine. It’s loud enough to temporarily drown out the music as it starts up and he winces – wondering if that was terribly rude – but Hinata just whoops along with a couple of the townspeople as the Stingray sings its own song, and the uneasiness fades away.

Rolling down the windows to let the music seep into the car, Kageyama shifts the Corvette into gear and lets it roll slowly down the street. Dangling one arm out the window, he taps his fingers in time to the music against the sparkling blue bodywork of his car, his other hand keeping a light grip of the steering wheel. A quick glance to his side shows Hinata is the same – arm out, relaxing back in his seat as the buildings slip past in slow streams of neon lights.

The road below them, fresh and smooth, is barely felt as the Corvette slips along, almost silent if not for the constant low rumble of its powerful engine purring under the hood. Kageyama shifts and leans back in his seat, settling in as Main Street passes by. Under the neon and the stars, the town shines brighter than anything he’d seen in the city. The night races of the Piston Cup have nothing on this one street in the middle of nowhere.

As the end of the road starts to near, Kageyama turns the steering wheel with the palm of his hand, and the Stingray loops back in a smooth arc to face back down the road. Before he lets his car roll forward again, he turns, to look back over at his passenger, and once again, forgets the simple art of breathing.

Kageyama is not the most experienced in these areas, chronically bad as he is with people, but he knows his own likes, his dislikes, and he cannot deny, for another second longer, that Hinata Shouyou is truly quite handsome.

The handyman is settled back in his seat, head tipped back to lie back against the headrest behind him, the shifting rainbow of the neon lights passing over his soft, smiling face in waves. He’s quiet, in a way that seems _content_ for the first time, rather than lost in the memories of years gone by, and it gives Kageyama a moment to just… appreciate him. From the surprisingly sharp jawline to the breadth of his shoulders, and even to the ridiculous shade of his hair.

“They’re so happy,” Hinata sighs out suddenly, jolting Kageyama from his thoughts and his wandering stares.

Clearing his throat and hoping the neon hides the red in his face, Kageyama lets his gaze drag back over to the townspeople in front of them, at the classic cars that cruise up and down and the drinking and the merriment.

“They’re happy people,” Kageyama points out, honestly. “I know they’re celebrating, but… they’re just always happy, I think.”

“They are,” Hinata confirms, the side of his smile ticking up a little further in a soundless huff of laughter. “Except Tsukishima.”

“Okay, don’t bring _him_ up,” Kageyama complains, and Hinata laughs brightly next to him. He doesn’t even know where the lawyer is, he hasn’t seen him, and he doesn’t care to know. Brooding in a cave somewhere, probably.

There’s a beat, before he adds: “They’d still be happy, even if you left them.”

Hinata’s jaw clenches minutely, and that smile flickers until there’s a little sadness there, under the warmth and the colour.

Kageyama turns in his seat so he can face the other man properly. For once, his heart and lungs don’t skip out of rhythm, and no white noise fills his head. He feels perfectly calm. “I don’t have time to race you again at Willy’s Butte,” he says, his voice staying surprisingly level. “But I want to race you again.”

On the same stage. On the same circuit.

Not just the dirt track, _all_ of the tracks. Every week, every season. For as long as he can.

Kageyama thought he already loved racing, thought he was about to reach the pinnacle of it.

And then he met Hinata, and fell in love with it all over again.

The idea of never feeling that sensation of sharing the road with this man, in that Porsche, is as devastating as it is unfathomable.

“And how long will you wait for that?” Hinata whispers. “Even if it takes me years?”

“As long as that,” Kageyama says solemnly.

Hinata turns to face him then. His face is… different. Determined, almost. The sadness and melancholy are gone, no wistfulness, no wishful desire. It hardens the lines in his face and sets his eyes aglow, as the competitive beast inside starts to stir.

Time to wake it up.

“But it’ll take you even longer if you stay here,” Kageyama points out quietly.

Hinata sucks in a breath through his nose, harsh and sharp, and snaps his gaze away to stare out at the town, at the neon and the people celebrating underneath it. Then he nods, once, and reaches for the door handle.

Kageyama’s heart leaps into his throat in a mild panic as the handyman exits his car, and he scrambles to do the same. He wants to push Hinata, but not push him _away_ , and he doesn’t want this evening to end on-

“Come on,” Hinata says then, interrupting the train of thought, having already looped around the Corvette by the time Kageyama had managed to stumble out of it, standing directly in front of him. Kageyama stares at him dumbly, at his soft, inviting smile and the outstretched hand, and tries to not to gurgle out his confusion.

But Hinata just snickers and reaches to grab his hand anyway, tugging lightly. “Let’s join in,” he says, light and mischievous.

Kageyama lets himself be tugged upright and towards the crowd, but, as he raises his eyes to see what the crowd of townspeople were currently _doing_ , he digs his heels into the fresh tarmac. “Oh no,” he says firmly, “absolutely not.”

Because the townsfolk are _dancing._

Some of them, like Nishinoya, are dancing by themselves, bouncing in a jig around the cars where they’ve been left scattered around Main Street, merry and bright with drinks in their hands. Others are in pairs, as Asahi spins Shimizu in a neat circle and Tanaka and Sugawara sway together in some sort of overly elaborate waltz. Either way, Kageyama has no desire to make a fool of himself, and he resists any further pulling on his hand.

So Hinata turns, frowns a pout at him briefly, before stepping up close, crowding up into his space, eyes twinkling. Kageyama has no time to be flustered, to let the heat searing from his hairline down to the soles of his rhythm-less feet register, before Hinata is clasping one hand firmly and resting his other on his shoulder.

“You can do a box step, right? It’s like an adult requirement. I’m sure you’ve been to plenty of fancy balls,” Hinata says teasingly, and he tugs, insistently, at Kageyama’s torso until he relents and, stiffly, follows the redhead in a robotic version of the most basic of dance steps.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but there are no fancy balls in motor racing,” Kageyama grumbles, spine ramrod straight and the hand not currently being held in Hinata’s grasp dangling hopelessly by his side, as they move in a rigid square. He’s done this _once_ , with his sister at her wedding, and it was just as uncomfortable then as it is now. It’s not that he _dislikes_ it, so much as he dislikes being bad at something in the view of other people.

“You could just be standing there wiggling and nobody would care,” Hinata says lightly, once again just plucking the thought from Kageyama’s head and speaking it into existence as though they were his own. “But if it’s really so terrible, you can escape back to your car.”

Their movements lose some of their pattern, feet faltering as Kageyama glances longingly over his shoulder at the safe haven of his Corvette. Then he looks back over at Hinata, looking at him patiently, and the townspeople who are swaying and bobbing with no skill at all, and no care whatsoever. So, he sighs, and plonks his hand on Hinata’s shoulder, his stomach tightening up terribly at the solid feel of it, and resolutely stops the ridiculous square pattern. “No more box step,” he mutters, “we’re in the _street_.”

Hinata laughs, soft and merry, and allows their regimented dancing to cease, becoming more of a vague to-and-fro as their feet wander across the ground. “Ohh, I like this one!” He says suddenly, as a new song comes over the radio – another old one, featuring the same singing quartet as before. “It plays like every hour though, I don’t think the local radio station has many records.”

 _“Life could be a dream…”_ the quartet warble, followed by _duh-duhs_ to a merry beat and someone in the background keeping pace with the occasional _“sh-boom.”_

Kageyama hums vaguely, entirely uninterested in the local station or their music collection, caught up as he is in the feel of this ridiculous man pressed up close and making him sway with no real direction around a freshly laid road in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, lit up by neon.

Not even a week ago, on this very spot, this man had dropped down from a road paving machine like a comet, given him cheek in their very first meeting. And from that moment on, became steadily more confusing and infuriating and _intriguing_ , drawing Kageyama in deeper and deeper against his will, a puzzle he just had to solve, a story he needed to read.

He became someone who started off as an annoyance, someone with a deceptively good car and a petty streak, to someone who was _interesting_ , who danced on the edges of Kageyama’s grasp of understanding. And then, as the long, slow days in the sun went by, as he watched the man drive and _race_ , alongside him and against him, he started to crack the code.

And Hinata let him in, let him understand, and that question mark that hung permanently around his person started to fade.

Around them, the song continues on.

_“If I could take you up in paradise up above… If you would tell me I’m the only one that you love…”_

“Why did you do this?” Hinata asks, peering up at him.

Kageyama hums his query, tries not to focus on how his palm feels sweaty beneath Hinata’s grasp, and the handyman nods vaguely at their surroundings.

_“Life could be a dream, sweetheart…”_

“Because they were nice,” Kageyama says, after a moment’s pause. “And because they deserve it.” The song warbles on, picking up in tempo but their movements slow, shifting in time with the pulses of _The V8 Café’s_ logo, bathing them in blinking pinks and blues. “… And to prove a point.”

Hinata snorts softly, and his feet stop entirely. The swaying between them stops, until they’re just standing there under the neon, immune to their surroundings or the people still dancing around them.

_“If only all my precious plans would come true… If you would let me spend my whole life lovin’ you…”_

“Alright,” Hinata sighs, his put upon tone at odds with the grin that’s steadily building across his face. “I get it. I hope you’re not planning on holding onto your Piston Cup title much longer.”

Something hot and fierce blazes inside Kageyama and he can’t help but match that grin, as one of his own, sharp and victorious, splits across his face.

_“Life could be a dream, sweetheart… Every time I look at you, something is on my mind…”_

The handyman holds his gaze for another minute more, before the grin softens into a smile, and he moves the hand that was on Kageyama’s shoulder down, until it rests against his waist. The grip tentative, before becoming more sure when Kageyama does not pull away.

_“If you do what I want you to… Baby, we’d be so fine…”_

Kageyama stands there, frozen still. Then the shorter man’s head is tilting forwards, until it bumps lightly against Kageyama’s sternum, just below his chin. “I’m gonna kick your ass, just so you know,” Hinata whispers into the fabric of his shirt, and his hands tighten around Kageyama in a strange, tentative facsimile of a hug.

Kageyama’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, before he allows his head droop, until his nose is pressed against soft orange tufts. For this moment, he can forget there are other people here, that they’re in the middle of the street. For now, it feels heart wrenchingly intimate, as he presses close against the one person he thinks _gets_ it. “Alright,” he whispers, voice cracking, “come and find me then.”

_“Oh, life could be a dream…”_

The song picks up again, as the quartet sing out the beat to _“sh-boom”_ and Kageyama sucks in a breath that ruffles the bright hair beneath his face, and forces them to start swaying again to the music. The movement is just barely a distraction, something minute to focus on as he tries not to think about how this could very well be the last time he sees this man for a long, long time.

No matter where he places in the race tomorrow, he will still have obligations that must be met – interviews, contracts to sign, press conferences… his life will be busier than ever, monumentally so if he lands the coveted Dinoco sponsorship. And by the time he free from all that comes along with being a professional racer, by the time he can return to Karasuno Springs…

Hinata will no longer be here.

He would’ve left, into the city, chasing after his dream once more, his Porsche lost to other races and other circuits.

His hands, still wrapped around one of Hinata’s and across his shoulder, tighten. Once again, he wishes for the ability to, just once, press pause on time. He doesn’t want the race to happen _tomorrow_. Why not a week, a month, from now? Why was he thrown the one person he wants to experience racing with, only to be separated only a few days later? It wasn’t _fair._

For the first time in Kageyama’s life, he dreads the race he has the next day. There’s no excitement, no thrill. It feels like an obligation. Something he has to get through, to put a cap on. Sign away until he’s free to seek out what he _wants_ again.

For the first time, Kageyama doesn’t want to race.

He wants to stay _here_ , pretend the season has ended already. That there’s no sponsorship negotiations to go through, no press, no interviews. Just getting Hinata on the right track and letting the pieces fall into place for the next season. The first race of all the races that will truly matter.

Against his chest, Hinata sighs and then lifts his head, just as the song around them draws to a close.

_“Oh, if I could take you up in paradise up above… Just tell me darling I’m the only one that you love… Life could be a dream, sweetheart…”_

“Kageyama… before you go…” Hinata says, haltingly. Then he licks his lips, the tip of his tongue just poking out as he reaches up with the hand that was clasped around Kageyama’s waist to wrap it around the back of his neck instead, drawing Kageyama’s head down until their foreheads touch.

_“Hello, hello again, sh-boom and hopin’ we’ll meet again…”_

“Oh come on, what’s that face for?” Hinata mutters around a sudden smile, touching the tip of his nose just briefly to Kageyama’s. “Are you imagining me overtaking you all the time and sulking?”

 _“No,”_ Kageyama grits out, the flare of annoyance at the teasing a welcome, fleeting sensation. “You can’t get past me on straights, anyway.”

Hinata huffs against him, a warm puff of air against his cheek, but the smile doesn’t fade. The thumb against the back of his neck moves up and down a little, ruffling the short hairs there. It sends a shiver down Kageyama’s spine, and he finds himself lost for a bit, in those sticky brown eyes. Around them, the people, the lights, the music… it all fades away, until it’s just this one person, who tips ever so slightly closer…

The piercing honk of a car horn pierces the air.

Startled, Kageyama leans back at the same time Hinata takes a step backwards, though their hands remained clenched together. There’s a brief instance of silence, except from Ukai’s radio, until, steadily, more horns and engines start to fill the air; a clatter of automotive noise.

“What on earth…?” Hinata murmurs, turning to face the end of Main Street, where the road snakes away into the desert towards the highway. Just visible in the distance, are many points of light, all streaming towards them.

“Customers?” Sugawara pipes up first, looking hopeful.

There’s a chatter around the crowd, as the townspeople get excited at the prospect of a slew of people to serve, but then the voices die out, as the cars get closer.

“Oh no. No, not here. Not _now_ , _”_ Kageyama hisses, infuriated, white-hot anger searing down his spine as the cars streak closer, the logos of news stations now clearly emblazoned on their sides. Some are unmarked, but are most are brazen: it’s the press. Lots of them.

* * *

Kageyama’s shoulders lift up to his ears and he tugs at Hinata’s hand, intending to pull him behind him, but the handyman doesn’t move, rooted to the spot and staring at the onslaught of vehicles that are descending on the town. Growling, Kageyama drops his hand and takes a step forward. He’s not stupid – the first thing these vultures will do when they step out of their cars is take photos.

Hinata’s not completely immune to this side of racing, but that doesn’t mean Kageyama wants to expose him to anything more than necessary.

Within seconds, the cars streak onto Main Street proper, and then there’s the banging of car doors as the press and paparazzi stream out. Some have cameras, others broadcasting equipment, some just have microphones and portable recorders. They spill out onto the street, a mass of shadows lit from countless beaming headlights behind them.

The lights and sounds have seemingly stunned the townspeople into silence, most of them shielding their eyes or squinting, and Kageyama takes a tentative step forward and braces himself-

_“Kageyama! Kageyama, have you been here all week?”_

_“Kageyama, is this just a break? Do you intend to race tomorrow?”_

_“Were you hold here against your will?”_

_“Is it true you’ve had a breakdown?_

_“Kageyama-“_

And on and on it goes.

Countless questions, almost all of them invasive, from all sides. The press clamour in closer, squeezing in from all sides, until Kageyama is surrounded by cameras and microphones. Hinata ripped away from his side by the push of people. He can’t stop his face from twisting up, fierce and miserable and furious, as they crowd in for a shot. He feels his lungs kick up a gear, heaving as his heart thuds. He’s dealt with press mobs before, but this is… this is more than anything he’s ever dealt with before. This is overwhelming.

In seconds he’s completely surrounded, swarmed from every angle and ripped away from the townspeople. He has no idea where Hinata ended up, but as he squeezes his eyes shut against the flashing lightbulbs on the cameras, he hopes desperately he’s far back. He thinks he can vaguely hear his name being called.

_“Hey! Stop! Enough!”_

More voices join those of the press, and then there’s at least three people bullying their way through the crowd. Ukai, Daichi and Tanaka all squeeze their way through, shoving at equipment without care to make them move, until they’re standing in front of Kageyama in a human barrier.

“No, don’t-“ Kageyama’s protest is drowned out by the combined yelling of the paparazzi and the townspeople inexplicably defending him. Anxiety tightens his chest up tight. These people will sell _anything_ as a story, and if any of that equipment was even slightly damaged… this is dangerous, this isn’t _needed-_

Another loud horn rips through the air, this one deeper, more defined.

The press and townspeople alike temporarily fall silent as another vehicle, this one much, much larger than the others, hurtles down Main Street and pulls over in a wide arc, its high beams dazzling.

“Takinoue…?” Kageyama breathes out, stunned, as his truck comes into view.

He can just about make out his transporter dropping down from the cab before the press start up again, firing questions at either him or the townspeople – both the three standing in front of them and those scattered to the sides, everyone getting riled up. Then a hand clamps down hard on Kageyama’s wrist and he jerks, frightened, until he spots Takinoue’s furious face, and he’s being tugged away.

Takinoue has had plenty of experience bullying his way through press crowds before, and tonight is no different, as Kageyama finds himself being pulled along in an iron grip. The press continue to swarm them, but Takinoue marches onwards, aided by the townspeople pulling people back, until they reach the cab of the truck.

The passenger door is pulled open and Kageyama is all but shoved up the steps and into the vehicle, the door slamming closed. Takinoue tumbles into the cab a moment later, the driver’s door crashing shut behind him. There are still flashes outside the windows, and the transporter draws back the thick curtains covering the windows with a snarl.

Temporarily thrown into semi-darkness, the only illumination coming from what’s streaming in through the windscreen, Kageyama stares silently into Takinoue’s thunderous face.

“What have you been _doing?”_ The older man borderline shouts at him, and some of Kageyama’s anxiety fades.

That wasn’t _anger_ soaking his transporter’s tone, it was worry.

“I… had some issues,” Kageyama mumbles dumbly, head starting to spin. It was just all so much at once – sitting the cab of his transporting truck with Takinoue, the press, the moment with Hinata being so suddenly interrupted-

Hinata.

Kageyama spins in his seat and tries to peer through the windscreen wildly, hoping to see a flash of red hair. His heart pounds in his chest – did the handyman stay back or was he shouting at the press? He was an idiot so of course he wouldn’t stay out of it, but was he _okay_ or-

_“Kageyama!”_

Takinoue plants both hands on Kageyama’s shoulders and shakes him until his attention is on him again. “What _happened?”_

“I crashed here on the way the Speedway… damaged the road. I’ve been fixing it…” Kageyama mumbles, voice high and thin. He’s starting to feel a little light headed. The paparazzi he can almost shove away – the yelling, the cameras… it wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to tune out a press mob. But the townspeople… they didn’t deserve this, not the incessant, invasive questions that would certainly be fired at them. They wouldn’t listen to Ukai or Daichi, it would be relentless until Kageyama left.

“Kageyama. Breathe,” comes Takinoue’s voice through the fog.

Kageyama takes a moment to do as instructed. Sucks in hollow air through his nose and lets it out of his mouth slowly, until his heart starts to pound with less urgency and the fuzziness in his head starts to lift.

“Have you been okay?” His transporter asks again, once his breathing returns to semi-normalcy. “Why are you fixing roads in the middle of nowhere?”

“I broke it. So I… fixed it. It’s a bit of a long story,” Kageyama mumbles, squirming in his seat. He wants to throw himself out of the cab to go and find Hinata. He wants to make the crowd disperse. He wants to get in his car and get out of this situation. And none of it is possible at the same time. “I wasn’t having a nervous breakdown,” he adds numbly when Takinoue looks at him pointedly, and fiddles with the handle to the passenger door.

“Why didn’t you _call?”_ Takinoue asks in despair. “And don’t say _‘I didn’t have my phone’_ ,” he adds when Kageyama opens his mouth, “I _know_ you didn’t have your phone. It was in my truck! Why didn’t you use a phone here? To talk to anyone? You dropped off the face of the earth for days!”

“I…” Kageyama stutters, blindsided. “I thought everyone would just be waiting at the Speedway, so…”

“You left in the middle of the night and didn’t show up!” Takinoue rages. “You’ve been all over tv, no-one knew where you were, the press are convinced you’ve cracked under the pressure. Shimada’s half convinced himself you were kidnapped. The only reason we haven’t sent a search party out is because you’ve got that GPS tracker thing in your car that said you were around here somewhere. Thing’s a piece of shit though, we’re buying a new one, couldn’t pinpoint you at all… all we knew was your car was here and nobody reported a crash or a theft, so. We waited! And you still didn’t say anything!”

The transporter lets his voice trail off and rubs his hands over his face irritably. “We got a call a few hours ago… the press got a tip you were here, it seems. Wherever _here_ even is. So I got in the truck and raced over. Unfortunately the vultures still got here first.” Takinoue lets his hands drop. “Were you even planning on turning up to race?”

“Yes,” Kageyama says immediately, silencing the little voice in the back of his mind that whispers he was considering not doing so only a few minutes ago. His head is starting to spin again. He genuinely had had no idea he was causing this much fuss. The race wasn’t until tomorrow… he wasn’t obligated to turn up until then, was it really so disconcerting he was late? “I just had to fix things here first. I didn’t realise… I was causing problems. I’m sorry.”

Takinoue eyes him before letting out a long, drawn out sigh, hanging his head. “We were worried sick, Kageyama. You drove off with your terrible sense of direction and then went completely off the grid!”

“You were worried?” Kageyama blurts out, genuinely surprised. He could understand anger and annoyance, especially from his sponsors and agent if they had publicity dealings he hadn’t been present for, but… worry? They were worried?

“Of _course_ we were,” Takinoue says after a long moment, staring at Kageyama with a mix of despair and bewilderment. “And a bit pissed, frankly! I spent the whole first day you didn’t turn up at the Speedway wondering if you had crashed before Shimada remembered the GPS!”

“I’m sorry,” Kageyama repeats, earnestly this time. “I didn’t… I didn’t really think.”

“Just… next time you decide to drop off for a week for some R and R… tell us?” Takinoue requests, suddenly looking exhausted. “You’re going to send us into an early grave.” He scrubs a hand through his hair and glances out of the windshield. “Man, you really picked an out of the way place to get lost.”

“They’re trying to get back on the map,” Kageyama says vaguely. “Do we have to go… now?” He asks, hesitantly.

His transporter gives him a wary look. “The race at one in the afternoon _tomorrow_ , and we’re already several hours away. _Yes_ we need to go now. That is, if you’re serious about racing.”

Kageyama opens his mouth to reply, feeling a little indignant, when Takinoue cuts him off.

“I take it you want to say goodbye?”

His mouth clicks shut, and Kageyama sits there, blindsided once again, until the shock wears off and his nods slowly.

“Alright,” Takinoue sighs. “I’ll get your car. Key?”

Wordlessly, Kageyama fishes out from his pocket and drops it into Takinoue’s waiting palm.

“Be quick, I don’t think the press will give you much privacy,” Takinoue grumbles as he turns to get out of the cab.

Still shocked into silence at his transporter’s easy understanding, Kageyama manages another nod and fumbles with the door handle, tumbling out of the cab and back into the night.

Immediately, the camera flashes and the calls start up again, intrusive and demanding, yet he holds his head high and ignores them all. Scans the crowd as he moves forward as best he can, looking for that signature flare of bright orange. There’s so many voices calling his name now, it’s impossible to tell if they’re from strangers or the townspeople.

Then a personal recorder, being held by wiry, middle aged man, is suddenly being thrust under his nose, as the reporter manages to get the closest to him. Kageyama rears back as best his can, but the man worms forward, spitting questions a mile a minute, the recorder inches from his face. And then another hand, small, reaches out and grabs the man’s wrist, forcibly yanking it down hard enough for the recorder to drop to the floor as the reporter screeches in protest.

“Nobody cares,” a voice spits as the man wails out his fury, and Kageyama spins as much as he can in the crowd to spot him.

Hinata has forced his way through, glaring viciously at any reporter that comes near, elbowing his way shamelessly through the crowd. Kageyama shakes himself out of his reverie and reaches, grasping the handyman’s wrist and pulling, until Hinata follows his lead and they’re both forcing their way out.

The press do their best to clamour them, hovering close and shouting question after question after question. And then, wailing out through the gloom, is a siren.

It’s Asahi’s fire engine.

The scarlet vehicle rolls steadily towards them, with Asahi hanging onto a ladder on its side and Nishinoya sitting behind the wheel. The fire safety officer twists a bit from his perch, to show the mighty hose nozzle he’s holding with one hand, the rest of the tubing coiled up and running along the engine’s bright red body.

“Everybody move or you’re going to get _very_ wet!” Asahi hollers, and Kageyama’s jaw drops at the outburst from the usually sweet and quiet man. Gone is the usual gentleness, replaced by a hardened stare and a stern jaw. Now he can see the man that battles fires.

Inside the engine’s cab, Nishinoya’s hand hovers threateningly over the switches that control the water.

A few of the press scatter, but most remain, calling the bluff. So, the small tyre salesman’s hand slams down, and Asahi aims expertly at the floor by the paparazzi’s feet. Water sprays out in a freezing torrent, drenching the feet and legs of those nearby. _“Move!”_ The fire officer demands, and the rest of the press disperse, fearful for their equipment.

Nishinoya gestures at Kageyama and Hinata wildly from the engine cab as Asahi brandishes his hose. Kageyama takes the hint and tightens his grip on Hinata’s wrist, pulling him along so they’re running beside Takinoue’s truck, all the way down its side until they can huddle at the back of it.

“I think Asahi will keep them at bay,” Hinata says breathlessly, looking his shoulder as they catch their breaths. He has a grin on his face as he speaks, bright and menacing, but when he turns to face Kageyama properly, it slips, fading into a small smile until that too, disappears from his face. Kageyama hates the expression that replaces it – one that’s sad, and accepting.

He knows he looks the same.

“Hinata…” he starts, and then breaks off. Now he’s here, he suddenly has no idea what to say.

“You’ve gotta go, right?” Hinata says, and that horrible, tiny little sad smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. The one that leaves him looking crooked and doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I…”

“You should. It’s your big race,” Hinata continues, and then he’s stepping close, back into Kageyama’s space.

Kageyama stares down at him, and feels his stomach tear itself into knots in despair. He hadn’t thought this part through, the saying goodbye. Somehow he’d missed this in his plans earlier. As though if he didn’t think it through, he wouldn’t have to do it. “I don’t-“

“Thank-you.”

Kageyama blinks at the interruption, at the words of gratitude that were spoken so softly and so full of warmth. At how that horrible, sad smile gets just a little brighter, just at the edges. Even as those big brown eyes get suspiciously bright.

“It was just a road,” he croaks.

“No,” Hinata corrects gently, and the smile stretches just a little further, and those eyes gain a sheen. “No, it was a lot more than that.”

_The neon. The laps. The listening._

Kageyama draws in a breath to try and loosen his tightening throat, shuddery as he trembles. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have a rematch,” he forces himself to say. It’s the only thing he can manage.

Hinata huffs at him, another soundless breath of laughter and steps closer still. He reaches up, and cups Kageyama’s jaw in his hands and looks up at him with that sad not-smile and the eyes (there’s moisture there now, Kageyama can see it he’s so close) and for once, time does seem to stop.

There’s the sounds in the background – of the press and the townspeople. Of the fire engine’s siren and the occasional blast of the hose. And of music, if one strains an ear enough.

And there’s the lights. A bit far away now, hidden as they were behind the truck, but still there. A dazzling array of neon in every colour, stretching across the ground, just brushing them. And the stars, of course, all several million of them, blanketing the sky and just as breathtaking as the first time Kageyama saw them.

It’s beautiful. It’s terrible.

Hinata’s thumbs raise and brush against his cheeks, softly, and bit by bit, time seems to restart. “Go and make history, okay?” His voice is so quiet, it can barely be heard.

“Hinata…”

There’s a soft puff of breath, and then the handyman is rocking up on his toes, and Kageyama’s vision fills with waves of red.

A gentle press of lips against his cheek, lingering for just a moment, and then all the touch leaves at once, as the handyman drops back down and steps away.

Kageyama is frozen. Every single organ and every single nerve rendered useless, as he stands there under the starlight and the neon, hopelessly transfixed.

Hinata opens his mouth, hovers, and then closes it again. He raises one hand, waves it once, before it drops to his side. That smile flickers just once more, before the man turns, determined and accepting, and slips away.

Back towards the crowd. Back towards the town.

Kageyama watches him, and does not follow.

* * *

The atmosphere in the truck is excruciating.

It’s almost painfully quiet, as Takinoue rumbles them across the highway, the only noise coming from the engine and the sparse vehicles around them. Kageyama sits back in his seat, head turned to window and seeing nothing, having said not a single word since he got back into the cab once Takinoue had brought the Corvette.

“I like the new paint job,” his transporter offers, after a few more minutes pass of nothingness. “They won’t let you keep the tyres, though.”

Kageyama hums vaguely, unable to offer anything more.

He knew about the tyres. He’ll still keep them. And he’ll fight his case if, when they finally arrive at the track, he’s forced to change his livery in any way. It meets regulations. It has his number, his sponsor. Let him keep this one thing for a little longer, at least.

The lights outside, from the streetlamps and the headlights, stream past and Kageyama follows them with distant eyes. It’s tempting the pull the curtain and try to sleep – let unconsciousness take him away, but his mind is too busy, his heart too full.

Beside him, Takinoue says a few more things, more meaningless chatter to fill the void of silence, before he heaves a sigh, and reaches for the radio.

The sound clicks on, the melody wavering out, and Kageyama feels his brow crease just a little more at the familiarity of it.

_“If only all my precious plans would come true…”_

“Wow, that’s an oldie,” Takinoue mutters, and out of the corner of his eye, Kageyama sees him reach for the knob to change the channel, and sits up.

“No, wait… keep this one.”

_“If you would let me spend my whole life lovin’ you…”_

“Huh? Alright…”

Kageyama sits there, listening to the words of the song, and twists his hands into fists in the fabric of his borrowed jeans. He wonders vaguely if Asahi will be mad that he left in his clothes, as Hinata’s words float into his head: _“Ohh, I like this one! It plays like every hour though…”_

Seems as though it does.

Kageyama’s breath rattles through his lungs and leaves him feeling hollow. He hunches forward, until his elbows rest on his knees and he can press his face into his palms, and tries to block everything in his mind out.

The race. The other race he ran out of time for. The town. The neon.

The handyman.

“Looked like you really connected with that ginger fella,” Takinoue speaks into the quiet. “You should give your agent his name, maybe he can still get him one of those tickets he offered you last week…”

It’s a hopeless platitude. Even if he rang first thing in the morning, and the ticket was processed swiftly, he would have to look up a number for Karasuno Springs, and then get in contact with Hinata. And that’s presuming the other man would even want to come, and if he had time to make it to the Speedway.

Kageyama thinks of that retreating back, disappearing into the crowd, and feels his breath hitch in a sob in his throat.

It wasn’t fair.

There’s a pause beside him, as Takinoue falls silent again, until it’s just the radio warbling out the same song. A shift of movement, and then there’s a hand, pressing firmly against his back, rubbing up and down in solid, sure strokes as wetness seeps through the cracks in his fingers.

_“Life could be a dream, sweetheart…”_


	9. The Tiebreaker

As the long truck with the deep blue Corvette Stingray emblazoned on its side, number 20 in the Piston Cup League, rolls away from Karasuno Springs towards the highway, there is a brief clamour.

Some of the press opt to follow, leaping back into their cars and speeding off, either to try and capture more footage or make it back to the International Speedway for the arrival. Others stay, keen for an interview, of a photo of the town that the famous racing driver had been holed up in for a week.

They don’t stay long. The townspeople make their unhappiness known through loud, angry protestations. Some refuse to say anything, other make such a racket it’s impossible to get a decent quote from them. Ukai has to yell hardest, while Daichi threatens to call for back-up.

Eventually, one-by-one, as the townspeople realise there is no good press to be had here, and the reporters accept they won’t get anything more for their stories, the people disperse. The rest of the cars leave, until it’s just a trail of rear lights in the distance.

The people of Karasuno Springs watch them go, and, in the distance, the lights that run along the sides of the transporter truck get further and further away. Until they can’t be seen anymore, and Kageyama finally slips from their lives at last.

Hinata stands at the forefront, silent and stoic now there were no reporters to yell at, no racing driver to part with, no song to dance to under the neon.

He watches, as the road ahead falls dark once more, and shudders one deep breath in and out.

“Are you Tsukishima?”

The strange voice filters into his head on a delay, and with a slow, confused frown, Hinata turns towards it.

It belongs to a woman, a lone reporter, the only one who hasn’t left yet, standing in front of the town lawyer.

Tsukishima, who Hinata cannot remember seeing at all this evening, and hadn’t thought it odd because the older man preferred his own company over festivities, turns to the woman. He’s dressed, as usual, in his business casual, and his glasses glint strangely in the neon as he regards her. “Yes,” he confirms, voice quiet, but it’s so silent otherwise the word carries clearly around the street.

“Thanks for the call,” the woman says, bobs her head briefly, then steps neatly towards her car, heels clicking on the fresh tarmac Kageyama had laid not two days ago. Her car door slams, and Hinata watches, with a slow, steadily building anger, as she rolls away out of town.

For a while, there is nothing, as Hinata stands there and trembles in his fury, one hand curling into a fist. He shakes until he stills, turns slowly on his heel, and levels Tsukishima with such a cold stare, the lawyer cannot help but balk.

“ _You_ called them?” Hinata asks, his voice deadly still. Ice, despite the fire in those eyes.

There’s a brief moment where Tsukishima looks disconcerted, but it passes in a blink, and the lawyer straightens, ignoring the incredulous stares of his neighbours to meet those flashing golds. “I did,” he confirms.

Hinata’s clenched fist shakes, before he tightens it once and lets his hand relax. He stalks up to the lawyer, slow and purposeful, and tips his chin to stare him down. “Why?”

“He has a race, and he was going to miss it,” Tsukishima starts, and pauses briefly as those eyes flash. The truth, Hinata is demanding it. “And it would be best for you if you left the racing world behind you.”

A gust blows through the desert and rumples Hinata’s fiery hair. It waves and flutters over his eyes as they flash, fire and brimstone and _furious_. But he says nothing. For a long time, he says _nothing_ , just stares up at the lawyer and trembles.

Then he heaves a deep breath in through his nose and blinks away the flame in his eyes. “I never left,” he spits, quiet and steely, and spins on his heel.

A couple of the townspeople shuffle forwards as he stalks to his car – Yachi calls his name softly, and Sugawara moves to reach for him. But Hinata is fast and unrelenting, and he throws his car door open, all but flinging himself inside. The Porsche’s engine roars to life, deafening and so, _so_ angry, as Hinata floors the accelerator and speeds away into the night.

Everyone watches, silent and stunned, as the Porsche leaves the town in the opposite direction to the highway, towards the mountains. One by one, they each turn to stare at Tsukishima, who meets their gazes evenly.

“A pipe dream will only hurt you in the end,” Tsukishima mutters, mostly to himself, the increasing whip of the night wind whisking away his bitter words. “He was just a passer-by, he was always going to leave,” he says, louder, a voice of reason to cure the uncomprehending sadness in everyone’s faces.

“Do you mean Kageyama… or Hinata?”

Gold eyes blink in surprise as Yamaguchi speaks up. The mayor’s aide levels the lawyer with a long, disappointed stare, before he too turns, and leaves.

Tsukishima watches, confused and disquieted, as each of the townsfolk say nothing more. They each slip back to their cars and their businesses, a slow trickle until the street is devoid of life. Tsukishima stands there, not understanding, as slowly, one by one, all of the businesses switch off their neon.

Karasuno Springs darkens, building by building, the colours fading, until all there is the singular, blinking traffic light, and one lone man standing in the moonlight.

* * *

Just as sunlight starts to creep along the ground, the sky lightening and the surrounds of Karasuno Springs brightening into their usual bright reds and browns, Tsukishima walks with purpose along Main Street.

It had been a sleepless night, but not one where he tossed and turned and stared into the middle distance.

Tsukishima never wasted time. He was meticulous and efficient, and his of lack sleep was down to productivity and an increasingly noisy mind. He notes, with some relief, the gleaming gold bodywork of the regal Porsche, parked neatly outside a rundown, dusty shed kept out of the way of Main Street.

The doors are ajar, and the lawyer sucks in a breath, holds it, and then releases it slowly before he nudges them open further with his foot and steps inside.

Hinata isn’t facing him when he walks through – the handyman has his back to him, tinkering with some component Tsukishima cannot identify by his desk, tools strewn around him.

“I don’t want to hear it, Tsukki,” Hinata says without turning around, as he tosses a screwdriver to the side with a little more force than was necessary to select another one.

But the addition of the nickname, however annoying, loosens Tsukishima’s shoulders somewhat.

“It’s a proposal,” he says, stepping further in and stuffing his hands into his pockets. The dust in the shed whirls around his head and flutters into his nostrils, making him want to sneeze. He restrains the urge to wrinkle his nose in disgust instead. 

Hinata puffs out a sigh and drops the contraption he was working onto his desk with a clunk, looking over his shoulder with an impressed scowl. It’s hard to tell in the early morning light, but there are bags under those sparking brown eyes – it seems the handyman didn’t any more sleep than he did.

“I know you tried to leave town a few weeks ago, but you came back,” Tsukishima starts off, keeping his voice controlled and calm as always. Hinata’s frown deepens and the younger man turns to face him fully, folding his arms as he focuses his full attention on him. Emboldened that he was willing to listen, Tsukishima continues, “and I thought – hoped, I suppose – that it meant you realised that the racing world was, perhaps, not the right choice.”

Brown eyes flash dangerously, but Hinata still doesn’t say anything, so Tsukishima carries on.

“I just didn’t understand, and I still don’t, how you could want to return to something that had hurt you so badly.”

Some of the frown eases off of Hinata’s face and the handyman tilts his head, still quiet, but expression more open now.

“We both know how much of a mess you were in when you arrived here. I will be honest when I say I didn’t expect you to stay here _forever_ , quiet as it is here, but I did think…” Tsukishima pauses as struggles for the right words. “I did think you would move on to more _sensible_ aspirations afterwards. And then he turned up,”

“ _He_ has a name,” Hinata says quietly, and the dust around them flutters wildly at Tsukishima’s impatient breath.

“Until _Kageyama_ turned up,” Tsukishima says, somewhat sourly. “I thought you were going to leave racing as just a hobby. I knew I couldn’t convince you to sell the car, even if it would’ve cleared most of your debts, but I thought you wouldn’t go back to square one at least.”

Hinata opens his mouth to retort, but Tsukishima overrides him. “I’m still hoping that you won’t. And I cannot pretend I understand why on earth you would want to go back, but… a passion is a passion, and I’m starting to see that maybe Kageyama made you see that. I just have one question.”

The frown returns, and Hinata unfolds his arms to place his hands on his hips, unimpressed but intrigued all the same. “And what is that?”

Tsukishima reaches up to pull off his glasses, wiping away the dust clinging to the lenses with the cloth he always keeps in his pocket. Stalling, all of it, and he makes a show of sliding them back into place and levelling the handyman with an even look.

“Are you in love with him?”

Hinata’s frown melts away instantly, as he’s caught completely off guard and surprise leaves him slack and open. He fidgets in place, running a hand through his hair and avoiding Tsukishima’s eye, before turning back around to face his desk again. He reaches for and picks up the component and the screwdriver again, aimlessly twisting at a screw.

Tsukishima waits patiently, until Hinata responds with a question of his own.

“And if I am?”

“Then do you want to go back for Kageyama? Or because you want to race?”

Hinata drops the component, but this time it just slips from his fingers, landing onto the desk with a clatter. He stares down at it for a brief second, before turning back to Tsukishima, his expression unreadable. “Both,” he says, as if the answer was obvious.

Tsukishima nods, satisfied. “Good. I was hoping you would say that.”

Hinata cocks an eyebrow.

“I believe the phrase is to not have all of your eggs in one basket,” Tsukishima sighs, and he allows a tiny uptick to the corner of his mouth. “Are you going to be sensible?”

“No,” Hinata says immediately, but now he’s smiling too, a small, mischievous one, and this, Tsukishima does understand.

No, because racing in and of itself, is not sensible. But neither is he going to repeat the same mistakes, Tsukishima is starting to hope.

He’d spent enough time in courthouses offices with Ukai, well into the small hours of the night, to start to see this.

He just needed to hear it from Hinata in order to be satisfied.

“Well, we best be going then or we’ll be late,” he says airily, and spins on his heel, his smile widening into a smirk at Hinata’s baffled face. “Unless you prefer to stand around here in the dust and pretend that thing actually needs fixing.”

Hinata mutters furiously under his breath but makes to follow Tsukishima anyway, curiosity winning out over his pettiness.

When they emerge, the sun is no further up in the sky, the town still dimly lit by only the very first few sunbeams, but now there are people.

The townsfolk, some sleepy, some bright, stand in a little huddle, all with excited little smiles on their faces. Just behind them are a few cars: Ukai’s Hudson Hornet, Tanaka’s Impala and Nishinoya’s Fiat, all lined up and waiting. Some bags and other miscellaneous items can be seen through their windows, and some by the townspeople’s feet.

“What’s… going on?” Hinata asks, his gaze flicking between each of them, looking more and more lost.

“Well,” Ukai pipes up from the group, stepping forwards and clapping his hands together with a wicked grin. “It's come to our attention that Kageyama has headed off to his fancy, life-changing race to compete with not only no crew chief, but also no _crew._ ”

Tsukishima’s gaze flicks down to Hinata, as the confusion leaves the handyman’s face in favour of bright, wild hope.

“What do you say we all do something about that?”

* * *

Knuckles crack and leather squeaks as ten fingers curl tightly around a steering wheel. Squeeze once, twice, three times before releasing. Relax. The fingers wiggle before gripping again.

The inside of the car is quiet. There are no voices, not from the driver or the headset attached to the inside of his helmet. There’s no-one on the other end of the line regardless. The buzz of the racetrack oozes through the metal framework but it’s muffled, just a low hum of three powerful engines, and endless screaming fans. A booted foot taps against the accelerator but doesn’t push down.

Kageyama Tobio flicks his visor on his helmet shut but does not close his eyes, tilts his head back and continues the rhythmic squeezing pattern on his steering wheel. He stares off into the far distance, and tries to think.

_Speed. I am… speed?_

The words, the chant, the mantra… it’s not helping. His mind doesn’t quieten, it remains dull and full of cotton. There’s no buzz, no excitement. Instead of envisioning the continuous oval of the racetrack, devoid of cars, all he can see is somewhere else entirely.

A road that curves, that rises and falls with the land it’s laid upon. Mountains, forests, a waterfall. A long, thick road made of freshly paved tarmac and lined with buildings lit up in neon.

Kageyama sucks in a breath through his nose, sharply, and shuts his eyes, trying to blank out the image in his mind.

Three cars, two losers.

One winner.

Kageyama already feels like one of those losers.

“You want this, you want to win,” he mutters to himself harshly, as he dimly registers the blare of a horn from outside his car.

_“Kageyama? You okay kid?”_

The sudden voice in his ear makes him jump in his seat, and his eyes snap shut, just in time to see Daishou and Romero starting the warm-up lap ahead of him. He sighs and shifts his car properly into gear and follows, weaving idly to keep his tyres warm. “I’m fine, Takinoue,” he mumbles.

His transporter hums over the headset, clearly unconvinced.

They had arrived at the racetrack with enough time for Kageyama to crash into a hotel bed that was starchy and uncomfortable and everything that the bed at the _Cosy Cone_ wasn’t. The only blessing was that there wasn’t any press there, miraculously, and Kageyama had been free to lie awake, damp face pressed into his pillow, and try and find sleep.

But the morning after had been hell.

Coupled with the worst night’s rest he’d had in months, and the heavy cloud that still lingered in his chest, Kageyama had been forced to handle the morning reporters when he finally arrived at the International Speedway, all of whom were more interested in his week ‘away’ than the race. Kageyama isn’t even sure how he answered most of their questions, if he answered any of them at all. He’s aware he was surly and unapproachable and quite frankly, didn’t care.

The morning soured even more when it turned out that although Shimada had managed to get all of his equipment to the track, his crew hadn’t arrived. And at such short notice, replacements hadn’t been found. It left him with tyres that couldn’t be attached, and fuel Takinoue was only half certain he could refuel his tank with.

“It’s fine, I don’t need new tyres,” he’d grumbled, when he was told this. His sponsors eyed him warily, obviously not believing this any more than he did, but there was nothing any of them could do. He _had_ won races only fuel before, and this race was only 200 laps. He could manage. Takinoue volunteered to refuel his car, after reassuring his suddenly fretful husband he wouldn’t drench himself in gas by accident, and they soldiered on.

 _“Keep an eye out for the start, there’s no grid here,”_ Takinoue warns over the headset, and Kageyama hums idly.

Normally, every car went around the track on a warm-up lap before settling into their spots on the grid in accordance to how they performed in qualifying the previous day. But with only three cars, a grid was redundant, so once they had circled the track, the marshal would wave the flag, and the race would start immediately.

Kageyama moves his steering wheel almost absentmindedly as follows his competitors around the warm-up loop. Normally, he’d be fighting and bustling to be up front, but today he just can’t bring himself to.

He just… wants the race to be over.

He wants it to be the off season _now_. He wants the race to end, and whatever results that may bring, and to deal with it as quickly as possible and escape. So many years of chasing one singular thing, and now he wants… _more_ , than just an empty cup with his name on it. Because it’s not just the cup, it’s everything around it.

He wants more now, than to wake up every day in either his barren apartment, an impersonal hotel, or Takinoue’s truck cab. To go through his routine, alone. To race, alone. Win, alone.

He wants to go back to the town that’s tiny but full of life and love, wants to _stay_. Wants the next season to begin so he can race while _loving_ it – knowing that sometime soon, there’d be an obnoxiously bright yellow Porsche flashing into view in his mirrors.

Kageyama wants to win, he always does and always will, but so help him, there is so much more than just _winning_.

_“Kageyama!”_

Takinoue’s voice in his ear jolts him, and he focuses just in time to see the chequered flag swoop down and two blurs - light blue and green – zoom away from him as the race begins.

Swearing, he floors it, and the Stingray roars beneath him as it launches.

For the first few laps, everything goes like clockwork. Kageyama takes his usual lines, and the gap between him and the racers up front decreases. But racing with just Romero and Daishou, with no outside help from a track full of cars proves harder than anticipated. There’s no traffic to navigate, no collisions or pace cars, and less opportunity to overtake.

Romero is fast, and Daishou is a pain to overtake, and Kageyama grips his steering wheel in frustration. The want to just follow them and be done with it, and the desire to win war within him.

He edges closer to the back of Daishou’s green stock car but the other racer spots every opportunity, and weaves each time Kageyama tries to move around him. Turns one and two arrive, and give Daishou a lead, as he navigates them better than Kageyama, his trajectory better.

_Your turns don’t stick right._

Hinata’s words arrive abruptly, and Kageyama’s pressure on his accelerator falters slightly. He remembers the other man’s advice, such as it was, and once again, regrets not listening. The straight looms, but instead of slipping up close to make use of the slipstream to edge past, like he normally did, Kageyama lets his mind drift instead.

He doesn’t see the track ahead, not asphalt anyway. He sees dirt and soil and cacti. A roughly hewn circuit carved into the earth. He thinks of the turnings, how to take them, tries to remember Hinata sitting in his passenger seat and what he said.

The green stock car ahead morphs. Turns into a gleaming, golden Porsche instead. The dirt track leaves, until suddenly it’s a mountain road. One that curves past rock, not packed stands, one that bends until there’s a waterfall. And the Porsche turns with it, and then all Kageyama can see is that one vision of Hinata, shining bright under the spray, head tipped back in laughter.

_“Kageyama!”_

Kageyama blinks the vision away just in time to see the wall of turn three up close and he shouts, wrenching his steering wheel. The Corvette shrieks, and manages to turn away to avoid a collision. But the momentum is all wrong, and the Stringray continues to fishtail, out of control at the sudden change in direction.

Kageyama switches gears and wrestles with the wheel, but the Corvette spins off the circuit regardless, the tyres skidding across the grass that circles the inside of the track, separating the asphalt circuit from the pit lane and paddock in the centre. He thumps his steering wheel with a curse as his car halts, then irritably shoves at the gear stick to rumble his way back onto the track.

Spinning off wasn’t disastrous, but it did mean he was now a whole lap behind, his competitors having both completed a circuit while his car spun out beyond his control.

Humiliation burns at him as he rejoins. It’s not as though he’s never spun off before, but he’s never done it on a Piston Cup circuit, and certainly with no other cars around to force him into one. He’s distracted and cannot focus, but no matter how hard he scowls or grips the wheel, his mind just won’t clear.

 _“You okay?”_ Takinoue’s voice asks again, a little quieter this time, the concern now more apparent.

“I… I don’t know,” Kageyama admits, after a pause. He’s rattled, after the near miss with the wall, shaky and off balance and he hates it.

There’s an intake of breath, as Takinoue goes to say something else, when suddenly there’s a burst of static and a surprised shout. Kageyama frowns, flicks his head to look over at the paddock but he’s the wrong side of the circuit to see into the pit lane properly. He lets his gaze return to the track, not wanting to almost crash again, and shakes his head irritably as static continues to buzz in his ear.

Then it clears abruptly, and a new voice shouts over the radio.

_“I didn’t come all the way here just watch you lose, Bakageyama!”_

The Corvette’s engine roars as Kageyama accidentally stomps his foot on the accelerator, the revs shooting through the roof as, against all odds, Hinata’s voice echoes, tinny and demanding, over his headset’s speaker.

“What?” Kageyama mumbles, feeling his body go numb from his head down to his toes. He rounds the next two corners through autopilot, and when he heads down the straight that runs parallel to the pit lane, he cranes his neck, desperately needing to clarify that wasn't just a hallucination.

Just visible amongst his pitbox is a small crowd. Not wearing overalls, and certainly not mechanics, but here and present nonetheless. The townsfolk of Karasuno Springs spot him as he speeds past, and Kageyama can just make out their arms going up in a cheer, their voices just about audible in the background of the radio.

And there, on the top of the crew chief podium that had been empty for so long, were two more people. One tall but the other short, his bright hair shining like a beacon in the mid-afternoon sunlight.

Hinata raises one arm and waves it wildly at him, a vision bathed in sunbeams and Kageyama has to mute his radio briefly to allow the airy, shaky huff of laughter bubble its way out of him, a grin spreading so wide it’s almost uncomfortable in the restrains of his helmet. Immediately, his nerves all ping back online, as he’s flooded with warmth and adrenaline borne from sheer, unfiltered happiness.

“What are you all _doing_ here?” He manages, after switching his headset back on.

 _“You fix our town, the least we can do is make sure you win this race,”_ Ukai’s voice floats over, and Kageyama can hear that crooked smile over the static.

 _“We knew you didn’t have a crew chief,”_ Hinata pipes up next, _“but we didn’t know it was_ this _bad.”_

“Shut-up,” Kageyama shoots back fondly, a slight tremor to his voice.

 _“Now,”_ Ukai interrupts, suddenly stern, _“what’s this lap behind you’re cruising around at? Stick those turns, Kageyama, it’s time to catch up.”_

A vague memory of Hinata telling him about Ukai putting him through his paces at Willy’s Butte before he was allowed to race on the dirt track circuit again floats into Kageyama’s mind. His grin sharpens into a smirk. He’s not sure how good of a crew chief Ukai really is, but the man has experience, and his teaching methods are evident in Hinata’s relentless command of the dirt track. He might not be completely willing to hand over the reins, but if it was one thing this week had taught him it was how to _listen._

 _“Your straights are fine, but be a little bolder with those corners,”_ Ukai says as Kageyama completes another lap. The cars of Daishou and Romero are still a lap ahead, but they’re inching closer. _“Dig into ‘em deep.”_

There’s something exhilarating about hitting the corners now, with Ukai and Hinata’s voices prompting him interchangeably over the headset. He used to think he was hitting them perfectly before, but now… his trajectory is completely different, and his Corvette sings as it loops around the track faster and faster.

His competitors are battling each other for first place, dancing beside one another side by side, and Kageyama eases up close. Overtaking two cars at once is tricky, but using slipstreams is his speciality. He waits, until turns one and two are taken, and then launches. The Stringray snarls, victorious, as it uses its new trajectory to sail straight past them both, just grazing the grass as he speeds by on the inside.

 _“Great! Now do that again!”_ Ukai crows, ecstatic, and Kageyama feels excitement spark in his blood.

 _“See, this is why you never change your tyres – you never turned properly to wear them out!”_ Hinata points out gleefully as Kageyama rounds turns three. _“Now.”_

Kageyama wrenches his wheel on command, feels his car grip the road obediently, and twists out of turn four to hurtle down the pit straight. He’s only a few feet behind the leaders now. Plenty of time to catch up. Anticipation grips him so tightly, he just about forgives Hinata’s jab. The man is – infuriatingly – right anyway. His previous turns now seem far too safe.

 _“How’s your fuel?”_ Ukai pipes up suddenly, as Kageyama begins the next lap.

Kageyama’s eyes flick down to his display. “Could use a top-up,” he relays, slightly annoyed. When he gets into the moment he just wants to keep going, _going_ , but running recklessly was what got him here in the first place. Besides, the other cars will need to pit too. They’re not going anywhere, and Kageyama is confident he’s going to catch up regardless.

He dominates another lap, before peeling off into the pit lane, slowing his speed to trundle into his pit box.

The sight is a little bizarre. Takinoue still seems to be in charge of refuelling, but now Sugawara is there to help, and the process of attaching the nozzle quickly and efficiently is definitely sped up. Wildly, he wonders if anyone is going to get into trouble for not wearing suits or helmets, but no marshals seem to be barrelling towards them.

He uses the brief moment he has to crane his neck to stare through his window, up at the crew chief podium, where Ukai leans down to smirk at him.

“If you can drive as well as you can fix a road… then you can win this with your eyes shut. Now get back out there!” The mayor calls through his headset, his voice echoing and amplified by his proximity.

Then there’s movement behind him and Hinata rounds him to come into view, leaning straight over the barrier of the pit crew box to forgo the radio and simply holler down at him. “Get out of third place already!”

Kageyama can’t help it – a bark of laughter bursts from him, sharp and bright, as he takes one last glance at this man. This man who he left behind and yet came back, with a whole town at his heels, to stand on his empty podium and ensure he won. He had been thinking of all the ways he was going to help Hinata get into the racing circuit properly, but never did he think the boot would be on the other foot.

He catches one last glimpse of that wonderfully bright, fierce smile, and his heart squeezes tight. Then the refuelling hose disengages, and the image of those fire lit eyes burns beneath his eyelids as he streaks back onto the track.

* * *

The laps climb up one by one. Past the hundred mark, until they soar to 190.

Ten laps left.

Kageyama shifts in his seat, focused, ready.

His rivals are just in front, all three of them separated by only a handful of feet. Romero, Daishou and then himself.

Ukai and Hinata’s voices had fallen quiet. The tips and guidance hushed as Kageyama got to grips with his new angles and domineered the corners, taking him straight up to the leaders.

His stop for tyres a few laps ago had been flawless as well. He’d streaked into his pit box, Tanaka at the ready with the tyres and Nishinoya brandishing his bolt gun. Asahi had no sooner levered his car up into the air, and the small, wild-haired man was rolling around, unbolting and rebolting as Tanaka rolled the tyres into place. It wasn’t the fastest pit stop by any means, but it was certainly the fastest by only one man, and Kageyama couldn’t help but snort in amusement at the dumbfounded postures of the other teams’ mechanics as he’d rejoined the track, not even dropping a lap it was over so fast.

Ahead on the track, Daishou makes a break for an overtake on Romero, only to blocked and bullied out the way. The green stock car is forced to brake to avoid a collision, and Kageyama takes his chance. He threads his car into the gap that is presented, slotting neatly between his rivals, so close bodywork almost touches. In his mirrors the luminous green of Daishou’s car slips into view and he grips his steering wheel tightly.

One more to go.

The laps climb up again.

_191, 192, 193, 194, 195…_

_“Five to go,”_ Ukai relays, and Kageyama tries to regulate his juddery breathing, heart pounding in his chest. Five to go to overtake Romero, he can do this, he can _do_ this.

“ _Kageyama_ , inside,” Hinata pipes up then, but just a little too late.

Kageyama’s eyes flick in time to see Daishou pull up alongside him, but not quick enough to manoeuvre into place. The stock car moves to overtake on the inside, and Kageyama goes to block, but the timing is off, and the rear of his Corvette clips the nose of the stock car at just the wrong angle.

The combination of the centrifugal force of the track and the high speed sends the Stringray wild, and Kageyama grips, white-knuckled, at his gearstick and steering wheel, trying desperately to right the dangerous spin he finds himself falling into. The cars ahead weave as well, both thrown from their racing lines, but Kageyama can barely see them. The whole track is blurred, a mix of grey blending into the stands as his beloved car shrieks and finally, gives into the spin.

He’s vaguely aware of the voices in his ear, but he cannot hear them. It’s just the squeal of tyres scraping across tarmac in the wrong direction, until his car is forced from the track and onto the grass once again, but this time sideways.

The difference in terrain jars him, and Kageyama snaps his eyes open wide, as suddenly, there’s a brief instant where it all stops, and he can _focus._

He'd spun off on the second straight, heading to turn three. He’s still hurtling towards turn three right now, just sideways, just on _grass._

And really, what’s the difference between grass and loose, desert dirt?

Both of his hands grip the steering wheel, gears forgotten, heart in his throat, as Kageyama wrenched his wheels in the opposite direction that he needs to go.

_Aim to turn right, aim to turn right, aim to turn right…_

Slowly, even as the earth pulls at him and his car, even as his teeth ache with how hard his jaw is clenched, everything starts to ease.

Inch by inch, the Corvette turns, until it isn’t sliding, spinning out of control across the grass.

It drifts.

It _glides_ , across the ground and completely back under Kageyama’s control once again. The track hurtles close, and with a grunt, he swings his wheels back the opposite way, and the Corvette roars, triumphant, as it rejoins the race.

Straight in front of Romero and Daishou, and straight into first place.

The sound in his ear is pure chaos, as the sounds of his impromptu team holler out their excitement.

Kageyama huffs out two shaky breaths, almost giggles, and flexes his aching hands against his steering wheel as he eases into being the leader for the first time.

“Float like a Cadillac…” he calls.

 _“… Sting like a Beamer!”_ Hinata finishes, and Kageyama could’ve sworn that wonderful voice was just a little thick, under all the joy.

The rest of the laps fall away in a blink.

Four, three, two…

The flag signalling the final lap of the final race falls, and Kageyama feels himself start to shake as he leads the pack, all three of them, into it.

One more lap, four more turns.

The sound in his head goes quiet again, as everything goes on mute. The crowd disappears, the voices in his headset, even his engine. It all fades as he focuses on taking this last lap as perfectly as he can.

Turn one, then two…

He rounds into the second to last straight of his rookie season, and then he hears it.

The noise blasts through the silence – the horrible, cloying, terrifying shriek of a catastrophic collision.

Kageyama just about sees, just the briefest of glimpses, as Daishou’s stock car nudges too close to Romero’s Superbird. One last attempt at overtaking on the outside. It’s not a dirty pass, but once again, the angle is just all wrong.

The nose of the Superbird is sleeker, narrow and long, compared to the robust body of the stock car, and when the two meet, the Superbird... flies.

Daishou’s car is sent into a weave once again, but one easily corrected. Romero however, is sent airborne.

As Kageyama sails around the final two turns, his speed slows, drained by the horror of watching his idol, this racing legend, fall to mercy of simple physics. The Superbird is swept into the air, sky blue paint mingling with the heavens above, until it falls like a comet. It collides against the grass, and the clumps of dirt both cushion the fall and complicate it.

Romero is sent into a roll, his beautiful, legendary car reduced to a crumpled, dirtied mess, as it dances across the ground, cartwheeling along the grass and until it finally, devastatingly, rocks to a stop.

Kageyama begins the final straight of the lap, and cannot see anything except that one, singular car.

And in a blink, the car changes.

The blue becomes yellow, the dirt is replaced with different dents, and the logos morph into someone else’s.

Romero’s Superbird becomes Hinata’s Porsche, and with that heart-stopping, ruining revelation, Kageyama’s foot lifts off his accelerator, and slams down on the brake. _Not again._

Smoke billows out from his tyres as his brake pads fight to drag his Corvette from over two hundred miles an hour back down to zero. He snarls and holds his steering wheel steady, panting as the finish line rockets up close.

Fifty feet, forty, thirty, twenty, _ten…_

The Stingray stops, the engine rumbling quietly, just inches from the finish.

Inches from history, from the Piston Cup.

Kageyama stares at it, at the line of the track before him, at the race marshal above, staring down in complete bafflement, his chequered flag held high. Then he blows out a breath, and settles back into his seat, just as a blur of green shoots past him.

There is no cheer as Daishou crosses the line, and there are no voices in his headset. Everyone, from the crowd to the commentators to his team, is rendered silent from what they had just seen.

Not even Hinata has anything to say.

Wordlessly, Kageyama shifts his car into reverse, and rumbles back down the track. Towards the grass, towards where the crumpled form of Romero’s Superbird still sits.

The racing legend is, to his immense relief, just forcing his dented driver’s door open when he arrives. Romero looks shaken, but not too badly injured, and he stumbles, wobbly and disoriented, a handful of feet from his stricken car.

Kageyama pulls up close, and throws open his passenger door just as Romero looks up in confusion.

“Tobio?” Romero calls, his voice hoarse and muffled through his helmet.

“If you’re not too hurt…” Kageyama starts, the wild beating in his chest settling into something serene. Something calm. “Get in.”

His hero idles there, clearly confused, before realisation seems to dawn and there’s a bit of smothered, tearful laughter, before Nicolas Romero limps his away across the grass, and slides into Kageyama’s Corvette.

“You just gave up the Piston Cup, you know that right?” Romero says, his voice thick with wonder as the Stingray glides back onto the track, at a steady, easy pace.

“It’s just an empty cup,” Kageyama shrugs, and he feels a smile pull insistently at the corners of his mouth. “And I think the King should be able to finish his last race.”

And with that, he lowers the window down on Romero’s side, and leans back, satisfied, as the racing hero of the Piston Cup leavers his head and arm out, and waves to an incandescent crowd for the last, and final time.

Kageyama’s infamous, deep blue Corvette, re-painted and reborn, passes over the finish line to the loudest cheer anyone can remember, and he didn’t even win.

* * *

Kageyama’s faithful Stingray slips into the pit lane for the final time that year, swooping smoothly into a pit box that doesn’t belong to him. The Dinoco pit box is full of people, more than just the mechanics. It’s everyone from upper management to the assistants, along with a few medical personnel. They sit there for a moment, engine idling, as the cheers of the crowd in bright sky blue echo through the frame of his car.

He’ll probably never occupy this spot himself. This will be probably be the only time he does so, and it’s not even for himself.

He finds that he doesn’t mind.

Romero catches his knee with a shaking hand and squeezes. “Thank-you,” he says, his voice muffled by his helmet and sheer emotion, and Kageyama can’t even voice a response. He’s grateful his own helmet hides his face, and he settles for a nod, watching as his idol’s eyes crinkle behind his visor. Then the legend is turning, flinging the Stingray’s passenger door open to tumble into the arms of his team.

Kageyama watches as Romero limps, helped from all sides by mechanics, up to where medics are waiting, ready to check him over. A woman dashes over as well, wearing the Dinoco colours but not in uniform. From the way the team lets her part, she’s probably Romero’s wife.

The sight sets his stomach twisting, his diaphragm jumping, and he quietly shifts his car into gear, letting it roll away from Dinoco. There are several bangs as he leaves – the sound of happy fists thumping down on his Corvette, a sign of thanks and solidarity from a grateful team.

His own pit box is only a few yards down the strip from Romero’s, but it feels like miles. He can see the small gaggle of people dancing around just below the crew chief’s podium. Everyone, except for perhaps Old Ukai, seems to be there. He can even see Tsukishima, hovering around in the background, tall and gloomy.

As he draws near, it feels like driving down the wide road of Main Street all over again, and everyone from the town he found himself falling for is waiting at the end. But it’s not the red of the court house at the precipice this time, it’s the steel tower of a team podium.

The Stingray shudders out a growl as he pulls into his box, purring and rumbling beneath him as if in satisfaction, and Kageyama squeezes his steering wheel tightly. Ducks forward, and bats the top of his helmet where his forehead should be against the leather and shuts his eyes in a quick, heartfelt show of gratitude to the car that never let him down.

He has to suck in a couple of fortifying breaths before his nerves start to settle enough to let him open his door and climb out of his car. A cheer goes up as he stumbles out, smaller than Dinoco’s but no less passionate, as the people of Karasuno Springs lift their hands and shout out their jubilation.

Kageyama feels a grin spread and grow beneath his helmet, the corners of his eyes just starting to sting. He’s never lost a race and felt anything less than crushing disappointment and frustration before. But he’s never _won_ a race and felt this happy, either.

He lets himself stand there, for once not awkward, as the people from a town with endless kindness, clap and cheer for him. There’s a few shouts, from Tanaka and Nishinoya most prominently, while Sugawara whoops and Ukai stands at the front of them, silent but clapping the loudest.

His eyes scan over them, steadily more frantic, trying to pick out one person in particular, and then he spots him.

Or, rather, Hinata makes himself known.

The redhead politely elbows his way past Asahi and steps around a jumping Nishinoya, to free himself of the small crowd. Kageyama’s heart immediately leaps into his mouth at the sight of him, shining brighter than anything in the stadium, his lungs stuttering away in his chest.

He just about catches a flash of that bright grin before Hinata has closed the gap between them in seconds, a short but sturdy body crashing into him. Kageyama stumbles back a step as Hinata collides with his chest, his arms winding around his torso to squeeze him tightly. Grunting, he rights his footing quickly, throwing one arm around the handyman’s shoulders in reflex.

Then reality hits and his breath catches short in his lungs. Hinata is _here_. Hinata, who he thought he wouldn’t see for months, maybe years, is here. And of course he knew this, the other man’s voice had been in his ear for almost all of the race, but the sight and feel of him here in his arms is sudden and startlingly real.

His arm tightens around Hinata’s broad shoulders, and he’s just about to fold himself over to pull the man into his arms properly, when Hinata is stepping back a little.

Kageyama frowns, immediately, but it’s soon wiped away as Hinata lets go of chest to reach up with menacing little hands to grab the sides of his helmet. The handyman rocks up onto his toes, and presses quick, tiny little kisses all over it and his visor, snatches of laughter squeaking out between each one.

“St-stop that,” Kageyama protests feebly in weak annoyance. He doesn’t- he doesn’t want his helmet to be-

Swatting Hinata away irritably, Kageyama reaches up for his helmet himself and yanks it off with a gasp. The hot sun and the sudden breeze assault him both at once, tousling his damp hair and leeching some of the heat from his cheeks.

Hinata blinks up at him, at his sudden exposed face, big brown eyes wide and shiny, his mouth open in a little gape.

“Wow, you sure get sweaty after a race-“

He’s cut off as Kageyama swoops down and kisses him.

There’s a little noise from behind that terrible, smiling, smart mouth, and then Hinata is relaxing against him as Kageyama slots the hand not holding his helmet to cup the back of his head. Two hands reach up to twist themselves in his race suit. Pull him a little closer. Kageyama tilts his head just a bit, and feels Hinata sigh against him.

For a long, perfect moment, there is no stadium. There is no audience, no crowd, no press or marshals or mechanics. No racetrack, no cars.

It’s just him, and this one singular handyman- no, _racer_ , that he thought he had lost but came back to him.

He feels Hinata break off the long kiss with a breathless giggle, those hands sliding from his race suit to grab at his (sweaty) hair instead. Drops little pecks against him, joyful little things, as the crowd behind him starts making noise again.

There’s a particular loud wolf whistle that could only really have come from Tanaka and Kageyama smirks, torn between pleased and embarrassed. He breaks away from Hinata just enough to look at up them, heat racing to his face anyway, and bites on his bottom lip as a silly smile threatens to take over instead.

Most of the townsfolk look smug. To be expected, he supposes, most of them did have sly smiles on their faces when he’d asked them to help him surprise Hinata only yesterday evening.

It occurs to Kageyama then, as he straightens with awkward cough, Hinata still pressed up close, that all of them came for him.

It isn’t a tourism campaign. They all dropped their businesses, and whatever preciously needed customers that may have appeared that day, to come here. To help him win.

He feels a small hand slide into his free one and clasp it tightly, just as his throat threatens to close in on itself.

Kageyama glances down at Hinata, who’s smiling up at him, that soft smile that’s as warm as sunbeams, and then back up at the townspeople, fortified.

“Thank-you for coming,” he says, and knows it’s not enough, words-wise. There are so many other things he should be saying, but he hopes the weight in his voice gets the point across.

If possible, the smiles on the townspeople’s faces get even wider and Ukai clears his throat.

“Well… you did so much for our little town. The least we could do is make sure you had a fighting chance at winning your big race,” the mayor says, a crooked grin splitting his features as he folds his arms.

Kageyama winces a little. He glances over, past the pit lane and deep into the paddock, and where another grand podium had been set up. Romero is not there, of course. Probably in the medical tent right now being checked over, if not on his way to the local hospital. No marshals or race officials are bustling over to fetch Kageyama either, and he can sort of see why.

There, on the podium with no rivals either side, is Daishou, holding up his trophy with a convoluted look on face, a crowd of press below him, clamouring for a photo. The cheers of the spectators in the stadium are quiet, and almost distant, as the official result is read out.

He feels a little bit of sympathy for the other driver. Daishou hadn’t meant to cause a collision like that. It was a risky overtake, but he wasn’t malicious. Kageyama knows he wouldn’t have done if there was any way he could’ve known Romero would crash out as he did. He’s a gutsy racer, but not cruel. He wonders if he’s bitter about Kageyama gifting him the win, or whether he feels like he deserved it anyway. They were pretty tied this year, he got equal points through his own merits.

Maybe one day he’ll look back at this championship and feel he deserved it, maybe he won’t. Regardless, Kageyama doesn’t feel bad about his decision. He hopes Daishou will understand that too, in time.

He returns his gaze to the people of Karasuno Springs, who don’t look disappointed or annoyed at all, even Tsukishima. Although, granted, the lawyer’s face is crafted into something carefully blank. There are more voices, in the near distance, and then Takinoue and the Shimada brothers are dashing towards them from the Power Curry tent, making a beeline for, bizarrely, Ukai.

Kageyama watches as his transporter and his sponsors embrace the town mayor, and a bubble of excited voices goes up. Some of the other townspeople even join in, Daichi and Shimizu in particular, and Kageyama frowns at the little display.

All of these people, some of them strangers, and he couldn’t even reward them all with a win.

He doesn’t regret his decision, but even so, a tiny ball of hot shame burns away in his gut at the thought, and he drops his gaze to the floor.

At the same time, Hinata abruptly lets go of his hand, and that little ball grows just a bit bigger, until the other man steps in front of him. Hinata loops his arms around his neck, and leans up and in to nudge their noses together.

“Congratulations,” he says softly.

Kageyama frowns against him, tries his best not to pout. “But I didn’t-“

“Yes you did,” Hinata cuts him off, before he can finish, warm sticky brown eyes full of pride, and leans in further.

Kageyama closes the distance, lets his helmet clatter to the floor so he can hold Hinata properly, and kisses him slow and deep. He feels Hinata's hands slide into his hair, and he sighs, contentment settling deep within him. There's something in his soul that just sings for this man - it feels like racing, like winning. Like driving at two hundred miles an hour and feeling untouchable. He wants this feeling, this person, to stay with him forever.

And maybe he doesn't know what the future holds from here, whether this _is_ just something fleeting, but as Hinata pulls away to lean their foreheads together, smiling so softly, he thinks it might be something more. Something permanent, something better.

Kageyama Tobio finishes his final race in the Piston Cup with no trophy, but with Hinata here, it feels like he just won it all.


	10. Dinoco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the boy made of sunbeams - Happy Birthday Hinata!!

Hinata drops back down onto the soles of his feet, still with that warm, dopey smile on his face, and slides his hand back into Kageyama’s. Kageyama squeezes it absentmindedly, his brain still fuzzing pleasantly at the sight and feel of Hinata right here by his side. It still feels like a dream, like he was dozing in Takinoue’s cab and any moment now he was going to wake up and have to drive the race for real all by himself.

He digs his fingernails into his free palm to feel the sting, and lets the sensation soothe him somewhat. “How are you even _here?”_ He asks, once some level of sensibility returns to him.

Racing paddocks, especially for huge racing series like the Piston Cup, were very tightly controlled. Every person would have to have a pass, and those took time to arrange. Kageyama glances down at Hinata, who, indeed, has a little lanyard hanging around his neck, and frowns. Even if they shouted a lot at the gates when the turned up, he couldn’t see the whole town being granted passes so easily. How did everyone get in?

Hinata tugs at his hand a little to get his attention.

“So, turns out…” he says, when Kageyama swivels his head back up to look at him in the eye, “that Ukai used to race with your team when they were teenagers.”

“… What?” Kageyama asks eloquently, blinking in confusion.

“Yeah! Apparently Ukai recognised the guy that drives your truck…”

“Takinoue?”

“Yes, him! Anyway, he recognised him – you know how I said Ukai used to race? Well Takinoue and the _other_ guy-“

“Shimada?”

“ _Mmmm_. They all used to race on the same tracks, back in the day. Lost touch a little I think as they got older, but when we all found out you didn’t have a crew chief or a crew, he dug through all his old contacts for them. Rang them up, said he could help, and off we went!”

“So that’s how you got in here,” Kageyama wonders, a little bubble of confusion popping. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d been vaguely worried that Hinata had threatened security or something.

“Yep,” Hinata replies, popping the p as usual. “They arranged for us to be able to get in, got these made,” he fiddles with the lanyard around his neck absently. “Though it was still a bit of scramble at security because it was so last minute. That’s why we missed the start – we only just managed to make it into the stadium at that point.”

“I can’t believe the racing world is so small,” Kageyama mumbles, still vaguely stunned at the chances that his sponsorship team actually knew the mayor of the town he crashed into. Hinata hums by his side in agreement, his big brown eyes saying he can’t believe it either, when he suddenly frowns and tilts his head in mild intrigue.

Kageyama follows his line of sight and balks.

Ahead, briefly greeting Shimada and Takinoue in the crowd before pushing through, is someone Kageyama had never expected see.

He gapes, going from stunned to full out shocked, as his older sister frees herself and makes a beeline for him, looking strangely worried.

“ _Miwa?_ ” He chokes out, before she is suddenly throwing her arms around his shoulders in a brief, fierce hug.

Kageyama has just enough to time to pat her awkwardly on the back, his other hand still being clasped by Hinata, who is blinking with wide, surprised eyes, before Miwa is stepping back and holding onto his race suit in two fistfuls.

“I am _so_ mad at you,” she hisses, unexpectedly, and Kageyama feels a little tendril of panic curl up in his chest at the dot of tears in the corners of her eyes. Dimly, he’s aware of Hinata giving his hand a quick squeeze before letting go, stepping back to give him and his sister space.

“I’m sorry?” Kageyama blurts instinctively, wondering wildly if she’s cross that he lost. She never has been before, even when she had more than a passing interest in racing in their younger years, but, he supposes, he did just throw away the biggest race of his career. “I’ll win the next one?” He offers, still feeling hopelessly off balance by his sister’s sudden appearance and unexpected ire.

“Not about the _race,”_ Miwa says, exasperated. “You disappeared! For _a week!_ I only heard from Shimada that you were okay _this_ _morning!_ It’s a good thing I had a job in the city this week or I’d be blowing up your ear instead, not that you ever use your damn phone-“ she breaks off, letting go of his suit and sniffing mightily, palming away a tear decisively. “I was so _worried_ , Tobio-“

“I’m okay,” Kageyama interrupts, reaching out to grab his sister’s narrow shoulders gently, heart pounding. He’s never seen his sister cry, not even at her wedding – all beaming smiles and endless laughter – and the sight sends his stomach twisting tightly. “I just- I got lost, and-“

“I know, Shimada explained,” Miwa says, brushing at her cheeks until they were dry again and pouting a frown at him, one he knows is identical to his own. “It’s just… you’ve been so _sad_ lately, and I know I’ve been busy, but I thought as long as you were racing…”

“Sad?” Kageyama interrupts again, suddenly confused.

Miwa’s frown softens slightly. “You haven’t been yourself in… I don’t know how long. I thought the Piston Cup would help, but… you were just so distant. And then you just disappeared before this big race, and I just- I didn’t know what to think!” She pauses to collect to herself again, and waves a hand irritably when Kageyama fumbles to apologise again. “Don’t, it’s fine – I mean, it’s not _fine_ , please remember to phone people next time – but…” she halts, and she twists to look over her shoulder at rag tag team behind them. “The guys sorted me out a pass, and when I got here, I never expected… this,” she waves a hand at the group.

“Neither did I,” Kageyama agrees softly, the corner of his mouth ticking up slightly.

Miwa squints at him briefly, before her expression softens and she reaches up, teasing her fingers through his hair, a habit of hers when she thinks. “I haven’t seen you this happy since Kazuyo raced with you,” she says, and the simple bluntness at the mention of their grandfather punches the air from his chest.

It still aches. The gap in his heart where his beloved grandfather – who taught him to drive and introduced him to the sport – used to occupy. But as he gazes over at Hinata, standing a short distance away happily chatting with Yachi, he can feel some of that warmth start to fill the hole again.

“So… who is he?” Miwa asks, her face turning sly as she steps to stand next to him, bumping her elbow into his side.

Kageyama’s face flushes hot as it suddenly occurs to him that he had been very much… _occupied_ with Hinata, when his sister had rushed up to them. He scrambles for the words, because everything is so new and so undefinable, and his mouth opens and closes several times before he just blurts, “he’s a handyman,” and then smacks a hand against his face.

“Hinata,” he grunts out into his palm, and Miwa cackles softly next to him.

“He must be special,” Miwa says, and the soft quality to her voice makes Kageyama drop the hand from his face slowly, “if he can make you smile like that. I haven’t seen you that excited after a race in years.”

“He’s certainly that,” Kageyama grumbles, shoulders inching up in preparation for some sisterly teasing, when Miwa just tilts her head thoughtfully.

“Seems a bit… _knowledgeable_ , for a handyman,” she muses. “Wasn’t he up on the crew chief podium?”

“He races, the handyman thing is temporary,” Kageyama explains, feeling his mouth tick up again, the thought of ‘temporary’ sending a heady thrill through him.

“Well,” Miwa says, clapping her hands together, “any man who makes my little brother love racing again is fine by me. I’m going to say hello.”

“Wait… what? _Miwa!”_ Kageyama protests – whines, really – as his sister suddenly hustles from his side over to Hinata, who turns to smile at her politely. Kageyama dithers on the spot, torn between heading over to diffuse the embarrassment and wondering whether staying out of earshot is better. Hinata’s polite smile is just starting to turn wicked, and Kageyama takes a step forward, noting vaguely with vengeful glee that his sister is taller than his new… _someone_ , eager to point this out to prevent any further humiliation, when someone close by clears their throat.

Kageyama turns out of curiosity, and almost stumbles when he sees Kindaichi, hovering a short distance away.

All of these sudden appearances from people he wasn't expecting were not good for his already shattered nerves.

He straightens awkwardly, and takes some solace from how uncomfortable the mechanic seems to be as well. “Kindaichi,” he greets, stiffly.

“Kageyama,” the other man replies, with a nod. He’s not dressed in his usual suit, of course, as he’s not… working, but the sight of him in casual clothes is jarring nonetheless. His lanyard pass pokes out of his pocket, and Kageyama wonders vaguely if it states him as an employee of Power Curry, or as a guest.

Kindaichi clears his throat then and takes another step forward, throwing his hand out a little too exuberantly. “Congrats on your loss,” he says, and oddly, there is no jibe or bitterness to his tone. He almost sounds genuinely congratulatory, and Kageyama pauses briefly before reaching out to clasp his hand firmly.

“Thank-you.”

The mechanic squeezes his hand once before letting go and immediately rubbing the back of his head, looking off to the side. “Look, Kageyama…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself if you don’t want to,” Kageyama says blandly, feeling his spine going rigid. He’s really not in the mood for a lecture right now, riding on his current high.

Kindaichi drops his hand and gives Kageyama a _look_ , before sighing, drawing in a deep breath, seemingly steeling himself. “I was thinking maybe we could try again,” he says, unexpectedly, “working together, that is.”

Kageyama’s eyebrows shoot up.

“They were pretty great,” Kindaichi goes on, waving at the townspeople, “especially the little guy, but you need real mechanics.”

“I do,” Kageyama agrees slowly, feeling a small tendril of hope trickle down his spine and melting the rigidity. He and Kindaichi didn’t really get along, but the man was good at what he did, his whole team were, and Kageyama had been privately dreading having to find replacements for them. “But you made it clear you didn’t want to work with me,” he points out, making sure to temper his tone into something even. He doesn’t want to piss Kindaichi off, he just wants to make this point clear.

“I didn’t,” Kindaichi confirms. “Not when you were such an arrogant asshole. But that-“ he gestures out at the finish line, “that was _not_ the same racer as last week. Seems like that week off to de-stress or whatever it was you were doing actually helped.”

Kageyama feels a little twitch of annoyance at the jibes but lets them go. This is the most civil conversation the two of them have had in months. “I was paving a road, mostly,” he says airily, and takes a little bit of joy in the mechanic’s deeply confused expression. “And, well… maybe you had a point.”

He turns a little on his heel, lets his gaze drift over to Hinata, still smiling and happily chatting away to his sister, and feels warmth bloom all over again his chest. He’s never going to get used to this feeling. “I’m not good at listening sometimes, but… I’m trying.”

“He tell you that?” Kindaichi asks, a cross between exasperation and genuine curiosity, as he follows Kageyama’s gaze.

“Sometimes you need to hear the same thing from someone else,” Kageyama replies, before tilting his head to catch Kindaichi’s eye again. “Look. I still like racing my way, and I don’t like being micro-managed. But if you have a suggestion… I will listen.”

It’s as close to a promise without actually saying the words, and Kindaichi holds his eye for a beat before planting his hands on his hips and blowing out a long breath, staring down unseeingly at the floor.

“You gonna get a new crew chief?” He checks.

“Maybe,” Kageyama murmurs, glancing out the corner of his eye at how Takinoue and Ukai had their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. “Hopefully,” he amends.

“… Alright,” Kindaichi declares, after a long moment. “You get a crew chief, one you’re not gonna _fire_ , and we’ll run a few practice runs. Go from there. How’s that sound?”

A little tickle of joy squirms inside Kageyama and he feels a little smirk spring up. This time, he holds his hand out. “Deal.”

Kindaichi hovers, before a small smile of his own tilts up on his face, and he slaps his palm against Kageyama’s, shaking it roughly before stepping back, raising a couple of fingers up in farewell. Then he turns, and starts to walk decisively over to Shimada, who has apparently spotted the two of them conversing, and is looking over hopefully. As Kindaichi crosses the pit lane to the Power Curry boss, Hinata hurries past, suddenly looking wide-eyed, and the mechanic glances at him as he passes curiously.

“Hinata?” Kageyama asks, frowning a little at the odd, almost spooked expression on the redhead’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Kageyama!” Hinata hisses back at him, closing the distance quickly and gripping onto his upper arms suddenly. He nods wildly at something over Kageyama’s shoulder, tightening his grip and dancing on his toes. Now he’s closer, he looks a little less scared and more wondrous, like he’s seen something incredible and is having trouble processing it.

Frown deepening, Kageyama looks over his shoulder with some trepidation, half expecting to see some of the press mob having sneaked past security hovering at their backs.

His jaw drops a little when he sees Hibarida Fuki, the CEO and owner of Dinoco himself, strolling towards them, a pleased smile on his face.

He feels Hinata let go of his arms to instead push and pull at him so he turns around like he’s a doll. Which is just as well really, because his muscles have certainly forgotten how to move.

“Kageyama!” Hibarida calls as he gets closer, lifting a hand in greeting. “Could I have a word?”

Kageyama feels two hands shove at his back and he stumbles forward clumsily. He shoots a furious glare over his shoulder, but is just met with Hinata making a shooing motion at him, his eyes like saucers. Just beyond him, Kindaichi has also spotted the newcomer, and he suddenly pops up a shaky thumbs up at Kageyama, looking equally wide-eyed.

“I…” he pauses to clear his throat, “yes, of course, sir.”

Hibarida’s smile widens and he gestures for Kageyama to follow him.

Kageyama glances once more over his shoulder, at Hinata who has now crossed his index and middle fingers on both hands and lifting them up in the air to show him, and feels his stomach flip over. He just about makes out Hinata mouthing _‘good luck!’_ at him before he whips his head around to give the man who owns the biggest team in motorsport his full attention.

Hibarida leads them to a section of the paddock that’s a little ways from the pit lane, but still out of the press’s reach. He’s probably aware the Dinoco tent will have too many cameras trained on it, and with most of the reporters still focused on Daishou, standing here was probably the best option. Hiding in plain sight, as it were.

“Firstly, allow me to express my thanks for what you did for Nicolas,” Hibarida says, his voice kind.

“Is he okay?” Kageyama blurts out before he can stop himself. The older racer hadn’t looked too badly injured, but he supposes there’s all sorts of things that could’ve been wrong and it _was_ a pretty big crash…

“He’s fine,” Hibarida says, waving a hand as if to physically dispel Kageyama’s worries. “We suspect he’s broken his ankle, and he’s got some nasty bruises, but he’ll be just fine. He’s on his way to hospital now, but he wanted me to tell you thanks from him.”

“He deserved it,” Kageyama mumbles, as relief sweeps through him. Part of him smiles internally at the irony of the injury. Seems broken ankles are rather common – he wonders what Hinata would think. “It was his last race, he should’ve finished it by going over the finish line.”

“Well said,” Hibarida agrees. He reaches up with one hand and rubs at his chin, gazing at Kageyama with a pleased smile, his eyes crinkled up. “That was a mighty fine race you ran as well, Kageyama… and I realise this might come across as a little informal but… how would you like to come race for Dinoco next year?”

For the next couple of minutes, it was like someone had reached into Kageyama’s brain and switched everything off.

The sounds around him are silenced, his nerve endings numbed, and his vision dulls a little at the edges.

_Dinoco._

The sponsorship he’d dreamed of, that he thought he probably wouldn’t get after that race, was suddenly there. Laid out by his feet.

A whoop of laughter pierces through his mind, and he jolts, everything sharpening again. It sounds like Tanaka, he thinks dimly, the loud boisterous noises echoing across the paddock, followed by Nishinoya’s.

He frowns a little, and looks up to meet the patient eyes of Hibarida. “But I didn’t win…” he says slowly, as something heavy starts to settle in his heart.

“Kageyama,” Hibarida says warmly, almost affectionate, “there’s a whole lot more to racing, than just winning.”

More cheers behind him, and Kageyama turns a little to look properly. At his team, tiny as it is, and the people of Karasuno Springs. At Hinata, mingled in with them.

He thinks of winning races, and he thinks of last night. Of a town filled with neon. He thinks of mountain roads, and drifting around a dirt track, and a gleaming, bright yellow Porsche. Of all the things that had made him happy, and of all the things he wants.

“Thank-you, Mr Hibarida,” he says slowly, as decision steels itself warm in his heart. “But I think I’m going to stay with them.”

Hibarida doesn’t say anything at first, but he does tilt his head curiously, as though waiting for Kageyama to continue.

“I think I like the idea of helping something small grow big,” Kageyama elaborates, more to himself than to man beside him.

“Well, I can certainly respect that,” Hibarida says cheerfully, and when Kageyama turns back he is relieved to see the distinguished man doesn’t look annoyed or bitter in the slightest. “Still, for what you did for Nicolas… if you ever need anything, any favour at all, you just let me know.”

The man that owns Dinoco holds out his hand, and Kageyama pauses for the briefest second, before reaching out and shaking it firmly.

“Thank-you,” he replies, gratitude flooding him, before a spark ignites in his mind. He stares down at their clasped hands, as the idea spreads and blooms, licking his lips. “Actually, there is _one_ thing…”

When he returns back to his team - a mismatched bunch of old racers turned businessmen, the townspeople of an isolated, country town, his sister, a mechanic and above all, Hinata – there is another little cheer, and then Shimada is tearily announcing that it’s time they started the celebrations properly.

Somebody asks about the press, and the other Shimada brother, who had been mostly quiet thus far, snorts his distaste and dismisses it, and Kageyama feels relief sweep through him. If his sponsors weren’t going to push for it, then he certainly wasn’t going. The upcoming press circuit was going to be awful enough as it was.

Takinoue catches his eye as the Shimadas start to lead the odd group of people deeper into the paddock, away from the pit lane, and Kageyama thinks he spots a bit of melancholy in his transporter’s face. It occurs to him then, as he watches his team and friends and family move as one across the paddock, that his sponsors are fully expecting him to leave. That this might be the last celebration he has with them, and they don’t want that to be interrupted or tainted by a press conference.

Gratitude swells up huge and encompassing inside of him and he feels a wobbly little smile start to bloom. He can’t wait to tell them they’ve got it all wrong, and that they’ll just have to put up with him for a few more years yet.

He feels an arm slide around his waist, strong and sure, and without looking down, slots his arm around Hinata’s broad shoulders in return.

“Congratulations?” Hinata says, quiet for a change, his voice lilted up in soft optimism.

“I said no,” Kageyama replies simply, and bites back a huff of laughter at the incredulous gawp on the other man’s face.

“You said _no?”_ Hinata parrots. “Just a few days ago you were desperate!”

“I wasn’t desperate-“ Kageyama starts to protest, and then drops the pretence at Hinata’s unimpressed eyebrow tick. Because, okay, he _had_ been a little eager, maybe. “I changed my mind,” he goes on to say, watching the small crowd of people ahead of them. “I want to stay with them.”

Hinata hums, and lets his head drop sideways onto Kageyama’s shoulder. “I thought Dinoco was your dream.”

“Dreams change,” Kageyama murmurs, turning his head to let his nose bury itself into thick, red waves.

Speaking of…

“You’re not…” he starts, hesitantly, rubbing his fingers idly across Hinata’s shoulder as he fights to find the words. “Going to run off, are you?”

He winces at the clumsy wording, and feels his embarrassment deepen horribly into something like dread when Hinata pulls away from him, the removal of heat against his side sudden and apparent. But the other man doesn’t stray far, and Hinata simply moves to stand in front of him instead, and reaches for both of Kageyama’s hands, holding them in his smaller ones and slotting their fingers together.

“Run off?” He repeats, not meeting Kageyama’s eyes, and Kageyama bites his bottom lip hard at the slight hint of betrayal there.

“I don’t…” he starts, and then stops, unable to find the words he wants.

He knows Hinata has a potentially long road ahead of him to break into the world of professional racing. That it might involve moving, and constant hard work, until the right sponsor finally took notice. The worries that he had when left Karasuno Springs are still there, grumbling in the back of Kageyama’s mind, insistent and constant. Hinata may share his feelings, but the threat of separation still looms, heavy and thick.

“I don’t think we can be together-“ Hinata starts, and then looks up sharply when Kageyama clamps both hands around his tightly, looking stricken. The redhead blinks up at him, alarmed and concerned, before his wording hits him and he cringes, face scrunching up. “Oh god, _no-_ I didn’t mean- I’m phrasing this all wrong…”

Kageyama stands there frozen, hope and mild terror beating away in his chest, and waits as patiently as he can.

“I mean, not together-together,” Hinata elaborates, or tries to. He swings their clasped hands. “Like this. Physically. All the time, that is. You’ll be… all over, probably. And I’ll be in the city, starting anew. But it won’t be permanent. There’ll be gaps between everything, and probably quite a lot of travelling, but… we can still see each other. And I want to try.” Big brown eyes blink up at him then, shining and hopeful. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Kageyama breathes out, bone-deep relief washing through him like wave. He’s hopeful, if things work out, that the suggested long distance won’t have to last anywhere near as long as Hinata is envisioning. But the plans in his mind are only just starting to grow, and so for now he folds himself over the other racer, feeling Hinata wind his arms around him in turn and squeeze.

“Come on,” Hinata says eventually, pressing a little kiss to his jaw, “we still have to celebrate your loss. We can work everything out later.”

The words make the wobbling smile return to Kageyama’s face and he straightens, slides their hands back together, and finally moves forward to join his waiting team.

The first step of many, to something brighter, something better.

* * *

The mountain road is familiar and yet new at the same time.

He’d taken care to revise the directions that Sugawara had given him at least three times (and made sure his phone was in his pocket), and as Kageyama sweeps his Corvette around the bends and curves of the road that snakes up the mountain from Karasuno Springs, he can really take it all in.

It’s the shorter route, the one Hinata had lead them back down on after that first drive up to Wheel Well, the one Kageyama hadn’t had time to focus on, lost in his thoughts and staring at the car in front of him. But now, on his own, it’s hard to focus on anything _except_ the beauty surrounding him.

It’s mid-morning, and the sun is already high in the sky, bathing the rock around him a rich red, setting the land aglow as Kageyama climbs. The drive on this side of the mountain is much shorter, about fifteen minutes from town, with less greenery – probably due to the distance from the river that flowed down the other side – but no less lovely. And it’s so _quiet,_ Kageyama marvels, nothing but the wind and the sound of his engine echoing off of the cliff faces.

The road levels out as the cliff top emerges, and Kageyama lets his engine lower its revs to become as quiet as possible for it to be. Just a soft rumble as the Stingray rolls up the rest of the way and slowly crunches to a stop across the dirt.

Wheel Well towers above, as golden and decrepit as ever, a monument to time gone by, and below it, a familiar car, with a familiar man.

Hinata is already looking over in his direction when Kageyama opens his car door and gets out, his face open in a little gape. He’s leaning on the side of his Porsche, staring out at the vista beyond the lookout point, but he pushes away as soon as Kageyama meets his eyes, the surprise quickly melting into a smile.

“Just dropping in?” Hinata calls as he hurries over. His smile is crooked and teasing, but the breathless quality to his voice dampens the mischief, and Kageyama feels a little tingle of fondness spread through him.

It had been two weeks since the final race of the Piston Cup.

As expected, Kageyama’s world had been consumed by a media frenzy – everyone wanting to know about the race, why he stopped at the finish line, about Dinoco, about his week away… it been exhausting. Shimada had been a pillar throughout, so grateful Kageyama had chosen to continue his career with Power Curry that he hadn’t asked him to do any extra press work at all, even if it would make him more money.

Miwa had stepped in as well, almost picked up Kageyama’s phone herself before he dragged up the courage to call his agent and respectfully part ways. The man had paid the invoices owed to the Karasuno Springs residents when requested, but then quickly fell into bombarding Kageyama with every interview, press conference and merchandise deal he could find. The boundaries that had been set at the beginning of the year fell away as the promise of money, and lots of it, beckoned.

“Don’t sell your privacy if you don’t want to,” Miwa had said firmly, before putting him touch with a few agents she knew from her television work, and Kageyama was still reeling from the gratitude.

It had been a wild and manic fortnight, as Kageyama filled what obligations he had to as carefully as he could, while steadily building up a better, more reliable support network for behind the scenes.

Takinoue and Shimada had offered and finalised the contract with Ukai in quick order, who happily signed on to be his crew chief full time, thrilled to return to racing world once more. Yamaguchi had been promoted to mayor - a position Ukai claimed he knew better than he did anyway - and one that was gladly received by the townsfolk. In addition, Karasuno Springs would be getting new and frequent exposure to thousands of people. Not only because of the press's interests in Ukai's roots, but also thanks to a new logo Kageyama had happily had added to the side of his car – a small cartoon crow, and the town name, courtesy of Tanaka. And there was another plan, something more permanent, to help the town as well, but Kageyama had yet to finalise it, his stomach squirming at the thought of doing so.

Kindaichi had made good on his promise, and his crew had returned to sign on for the next year. He had agreed to meet Kageyama for lunch to discuss the details, and it had been a long, and oftentimes uncomfortable, discussion, but now it felt like they were finally on the same page. They have yet to run a full practice with all of them, Ukai, the mechanics and himself, but Kageyama is feeling hopefully optimistic about it. It feels like it will work.

He remembers Romero, and his advice of how it’s a _team_ that gets a driver to the top of the championship, and how he’d scorned it at first. Dismissed it in favour of focusing on his own skills, because those were the only ones he could rely on. Then a real team started to flourish before him before he knew it, and ensnared him in the warmth and welcome of reliability and acceptance.

The Power Curry team is small, with almost none of the facilities of a powerhouse like Dinoco, but it was full of passion and drive, and Kageyama is excited to see where they can go.

A pair of warms wrap around his torso and Kageyama smothers a smile in fiery hair as he bends to squeeze Hinata back, before pulling away so he can land a kiss.

“Are you all packed up?” He asks, before Hinata can say anything more.

Through the aid of a frankly embarrassing number of people, Kageyama had been able to smuggle Hinata back to his hotel room after the race without attracting too much attention from the press. The night they had shared had been more practical than passionate – much of it was spent sitting on the starchy hotel room bedsheets and talking.

They had exchanged numbers, and both had made somewhat giggly promises to actually _use_ their phones (turns out, Hinata was just as bad at using his as Kageyama was) – if only to find out when Kageyama’s schedule was open next.

Hinata had busied himself while waiting for the next gap with getting on with what he’d promised. He’d told the town of his plans to move back to the city to try and revitalise his racing career, and the townspeople had both cried and swarmed to help in equal measure.

They’d refused to pack up or sell Hinata’s house – insisting he take what he needed but to keep everything else there, that Karasuno Springs would always a be home for him. Tsukishima had sat him down for one final time to go over finances, and wrangled a promise out of him that he would check in once a month. And the rest of the town, even if they had been in the dark about their beloved handyman’s past with racing, all promised to help and pass on any information they thought was useful.

“You have to promise to come and see them, though, or they might dry up,” Tsukishima had said, and Hinata had for once bitten his lip on the lawyer’s shaky exclusion of himself.

Hinata had told Kageyama all of this over the phone – when they both remembered to use them – and today was the day. He had a couple of nights in a motel booked, and some viewings planned for apartments in the city. It was time to move, and try again.

Or, perhaps, something else.

As Hinata hums his confirmation that he’s all ready to go, Kageyama stands back and rubs his hands up and down the redhead’s upper arms.

“Leave the stuff here for today. We’re going somewhere.”

“We are?” Hinata frowns, clearly confused. He’d probably figured they’d stay in town today, and part of Kageyama is regretful they can’t. He’s missed the townspeople and the quiet solitude of Karasuno Springs terribly, in the hubbub of the last two weeks, but today is important. Possibly the most important day of both their lives so far. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Kageyama says, smirking at Hinata’s impatient frown and ducking forwards to press a kiss against his temple. “Go get the essentials and,” his smirk widens into a wicked grin, “your helmet.”

Brown eyes blow wide and almost sparkle in the morning sunlight. “Racing?” Hinata breathes, almost vibrating on the spot.

“Something like that,” Kageyama replies cryptically, and dodges the annoyed jab aimed at his side with a snicker. “I’ll see you at the town entrance, okay?”

Hinata squints at him in irritable suspicion, but excitement wins out, and he’s soon trotting back over to his car. Kageyama follows suit, and tries his best not to drift off too much into daydreams as he follows Hinata down the mountain road back into town. The Porsche peals away when the road levels out, probably heading to Hinata’s house on the outskirts, and Kageyama lets his Corvette trundle down the smooth, quiet road of Main Street, idling by the entrance.

He busies himself fiddling with the maps function on his phone, making sure the thing was connected to the Bluetooth (whatever that was) so directions could be shouted at him through his car’s speakers. He’d had to enlist Takinoue’s help for this task, which the transporter had done with only a minimal amount of teasing at Kageyama’s lack of knowledge at basic driving gadgetry.

(Kageyama thinks if it’s not related to racing, then it’s not particularly important for him to know, in his humble opinion.)

Soon, the familiar rumble of the Cayman’s engine reaches his ears, and Hinata is pulling up alongside him, a familiar pair of sunglasses perched on his head.

“Now what?” He calls through an open window.

“Follow me!” Kageyama shouts back, ignores the whine of his name in response, and pulls onto the open road that leads out of town towards the highway.

The drive is long and somewhat boring, even with Hinata in his general periphery. He doesn’t try and switch on the radio, lest he disrupt the navigation instructions from his phone, so he settles for driving along in relative silence. At least it’s a nice day, and he can roll the windows down and dangle his arm out as the highway disappears to become a new network of roads.

Hinata alternates between driving beside him when there’s lanes and behind when there’s not, always right next to him, and Kageyama has to bite the inside of cheek at the grumpy pout on the other man’s face. His impatience will be rewarded soon enough, once he realises where they’re going.

After almost two hours of driving, they pull on to a long, long road that snakes across the countryside. More greenery than desert sand, and with a pleasant breeze that whips away the afternoon heat. It travels on and on, until it ends in a huge, square building, complete with a small racetrack at its rear.

Kageyama allows himself a sly smile as he glances over to the side to take in Hinata’s expression as the redhead gapes through his windscreen at the building painted in sky blue, a red dinosaur logo splashed across its façade.

“Are we…?”

“At Dinoco’s headquarters,” Kageyama confirms, suitably nonchalant.

Hinata whips his head from the building to gawp at him instead, and Kageyama simply reaches into his glove box to fish around inside. He finds what he’s looking for and quickly draws it out – a laminated permit prepared a week beforehand – and frisbees it through his open window and into Hinata’s. The other man catches it deftly and frowns in increased bewilderment when he sees what it is.

“You’ll need that for security,” Kageyama says, getting his own pass ready.

“Kageyama, _what-“_

But Kageyama ignores him, secret smile widening, as he rolls forwards towards the security station at the end of the road. The red and white barrier levers up when he flashes his pass to the guard, and then again when Hinata follows suit behind him.

The Corvette and the Porsche follow the rest of the short road in single file, until they reach the grand parking lot outside the Dinoco building’s foyer. The cars pull up and stop in designated, sign posted spaces, and both men get out. One baffled and irritable, the other almost trembling with excitement.

Another man strolls up to greet them, and Hinata’s jaw fully drops as Hibarida Fuki beams at them.

“Gentlemen! Good to see you made it. Please, follow me.”

* * *

“You asked the head of Dinoco for _what?_ ” Hinata wheezes, staring with a face so drained of colour, Kageyama’s a little worried he might faint.

They’re standing in a smallish room that overlooks Dinoco’s private track situated at the back of the main building. It’s smaller than the standard track, just a simple oval with a very rudimentary pit lane, but it’s enough to practice on. Most of the building was dedicated to Dinoco’s other exploits outside of motoracing, but a fair portion was for the racing team, including the track.

Hibarida is talking with what looks to be an assistant, and Kageyama turns to give Hinata his full attention.

“To give you a test drive,” he says, repeating himself, and feels a little thrill of satisfaction zip up his spine at the words.

Hinata splutters and stumbles over several words, the most inarticulate Kageyama has ever seen him, until he finally settles on a strangled, _“how?”_

“He offered me a favour,” Kageyama shrugs, not wanting to go into the hows and the whys in too much detail. It made his stomach squirm a little in embarrassment. He hadn’t done what he did for favours or anything in return, after all. “And I asked him to give you a test drive.”

Hinata boggles at him, brown eyes round saucers in his head as he gapes openly. A series of emotions flitters across his face, before settling on something decidedly uncomfortable. Almost unhappy. His hands screw up into little fists by his side and he stares up at Kageyama – not angry, but certainly displeased. “But Dinoco was _your_ dream,” he says, a frown starting to crease across his forehead. “Don’t tell me you turned down the drive for this.”

Kageyama tries not to let the words dig under his skin, and takes a breath to ward off any upset that prickles. It’s understandable – Hinata is competitive, he’s an exceptionally hard worker, and it does look a little like a cast off. An offer on table only because Kageyama turned it down graciously first.

But it’s not like that.

“It was,” Kageyama says slowly, taking his time to find the words. “And if I had been asked a month ago I would’ve taken the drive in a heartbeat.”

Hinata tilts his head at him, some of his upset frown easing, and waits.

“But… then I ran that race with everyone behind me and I… it wasn’t what I wanted, anymore. It wasn’t what I wanted the day _before_ the race either.” Kageyama pauses, and shoots a look over his shoulder, checking Hibarida was still occupied, and then reaches out to touch his fingertips to Hinata’s cheek. “That night, before the race… I don’t think I would’ve left, if the press didn’t come. I would’ve spent that whole night with you instead.”

“Tobio…” Hinata breathes out, and the sound of his given name in that wistful tone sets Kageyama’s heart alight with fire and song.

“I want to race _with_ you,” Kageyama goes on, forcing his breathing to stay under control in the wake of those eyes going pudding soft again. “And I have no doubt you could make it to the top finding your own connections, but you deserve to be at the top _now._ You’re good enough. Someone else just needs to see that.” He lets his hand drop to find Hinata’s instead, and holds it loosely.

“This isn’t necessarily a drive for _Dinoco_ – it’s just to show what one of the best connected men in racing what you can do. Hibarida is well known for being gracious. You impress him, he’ll put you in touch with the right people. He’s done it for lots of racers before – gotten them starts in all sorts of lower leagues. It’s a foot in the door, Hinata.”

Hinata’s eyes take on that glint again, that sharpness, that fire. He glances away, towards the wall of glass windows that overlooks the track, and his fingers tighten across Kageyama’s.

“It’s not like before,” Kageyama murmurs, lowering his voice. “This isn’t Vitoline.”

Hinata nods, almost absently, and Kageyama watches as he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing visibly as he thinks, before he turns to meet his gaze again. And _oh,_ those eyes, golden and furious and it’s only been two weeks but Kageyama has _missed_ them.

He lets a fierce smile split across his face, one which is quickly mirrored in Hinata. “Go tear up the track.”

He sooner has the words out, and Hibarida’s assistant is bustling over, a neat, older man with flyaway dark hair and round glasses.

“My name is Takeda,” the man introduces himself, dipping into a very quick bow. “And if you would follow me, I’ll lead you to the track,” he extends a hand, inviting Hinata to follow him, smiling politely.

Hinata dithers, before snapping to attention, scampering after the man as he starts to leave the viewing room. He glances behind him once, at Kageyama, who gives him a discreet thumbs up, and smiles, wobbly, before disappearing from the room.

“I have to say, Kageyama,” Hibarida says a few minutes later, as they stand side-by-side by the wall of glass, watching as Hinata’s Porsche pulls onto the start line on the track below them. “I wasn’t expecting you to ask this for a favour.”

Kageyama fidgets, and glances at the CEO out the corner of his eye, trying to gauge if the other man was annoyed or not. He can see how it might look – asking Hibarida to give someone he was obviously… _close_ with, a test drive. He fights down a wild urge to say that Hinata isn’t his boyfriend, which was both true and untrue. They hadn’t put a label on it yet, it was all so new, but at the same time, Kageyama can’t deny it's what he wants.

“Ah, Fuki, I told you already! Tobio must have seen something amazing in that young man for him to ask such a favour.”

Kageyama spins on his heel at the new voice, and blinks in surprise as Romero limps his way through the door to join them.

The racing legend looks a little different in casual clothes, older somehow, but also infinitely more relaxed. He has a bulky plastic boot encasing his foot – one that seems to allow him to put his weight on his injured ankle without the need for crutches, even if his pace is a little slow and hobbled. “Tobio,” he greets with a smile when a reaches them, clapping a hand on Kageyama’s shoulder.

“Romero,” Kageyama returns with a small smile of his own. He had heard that the older racer was healing well through the grapevine, but to see him in front of him, looking healthy and on the mend, was a stark relief.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Nicolas?”

“I wish you brought your crutches,” Hibarida grumbles, as Romero runs a friendly hand over Kageyama’s hair and settles to stand in between them.

“I don’t need them,” Romero dismisses with a wave of his hand, “ _and_ ,” he adds, when Hibarida frowns at him, “I’m retired, so it doesn’t really matter!”

“You won’t be so blasé when your ankle heals badly,” Hibarida sighs out, but opts to leave it, and he turns back to the door when it opens once again to reveal Takeda, who is scurrying in.

As the CEO as his assistant bustle with getting headsets on to communicate with Hinata down below, Romero turns to face Kageyama, looking curious.

“You found this guy out in the country?” He asks, pointing down at Hinata.

“Yeah.”

“With a car like _that?_ ”

 _“Yeah,”_ Kageyama confirms, his smile twitching. He’d thought the same thing after all. “Apparently he’s a dirt track champion.”

Romero hums in intrigue. “Interesting. But what about on asphalt?”

“We’re about to find out,” Kageyama murmurs, folding his arms to hide the nervous twitch in his hands as stares out through the glass.

“Alright. Hinata, can you hear me?” Hibarida speaks up, adjusting the mouthpiece of his headset. “Good! Right, so what we’re going to have you do, is start on a warm-up lap, and then do flying laps. We’ll start timing you from the second one. Do five full laps and then we’ll go from there. You’re familiar with the starting lights?”

Below, Kageyama can just about see the five lights above the start line flicker as they prepare to switch on. They’ll light up red one by one, then all turn green when it’s time to go. Off to the side, Takeda starts up a small computer set up on a little station to the side and takes a seat in a nearby chair. A digital number display pops up on the screen – a highly sensitive stopwatch, to clock Hinata’s times once the flying laps start.

Shuffling in place, Kageyama tightens his fingers around his shirtsleeves and nibbles at his bottom lip as the Porsche below springs from the line when lights above blink green, starting the warm-up lap. There are more voices murmuring to his side, but as he’s not being addressed directly, he tunes them out so he can focus on the car below. It sweeps around the track neatly, before launching like a rocket for the first flying lap.

Hinata’s straights aren’t as precise as Kageyama’s, but the turns he takes beautifully, the angles so sharp it causes Romero whistle appreciatively next to him, and he feels some of the nervous tension leak from his body to be replaced with relieved satisfaction instead.

The timed laps begin, and the stopwatch on the display flickers into life, the numbers flying by rapidly as the count begins.

“Mr Hibarida?” Takeda calls suddenly, once the first flying lap is completed, and all three men turn to face the assistant at the surprise in his voice.

Hibarida looks at the display, and his eyebrows shoot up, hurrying to stand behind Takeda’s chair to look at the screen. He says nothing, and Kageyama tries to exchange a look with Romero, but the older racer is similarly distracted, gaping at the display with open shock. Then the next time gets posted and Hibarida stands up straight, running a hand through his hair and blowing a long breath, looking more shaken than Kageyama has ever seen the man.

Romero blinks at the screen and then tips his head back in a bark of laughter. “Oh, _wow_. Tobio you really found a guy, huh?”

“Is something wrong?” Kageyama asks, feeling a little knot of dread tighten in his chest. Was it bad? He’s never raced here, and he has no idea if Hinata’s times were good or disastrous. If they were terrible, he hopes they won’t be too scornful of Hinata when he comes back…

Romero slings an arm around Kageyama’s shoulders and feigns a mournful look, one that’s ruined by the sparkle in his eyes. “Your boy down there just smashed my course record, Tobio.”

“The _record?”_ Kageyama chokes out, surprise seizing him, before it is swiftly replaced by wonder. He lets his arms fall from their fold and turns back to face the track, where Hinata is just finishing his final flying lap and cruising to a slow stop.

Hibarida mutters something to Takeda while covering his headset’s mouthpiece before saying, louder, “Hinata, if you could leave your car on the track for a moment, and pop back up here that’d be great. No, we got the times. Alright. Thank-you.”

Takeda scampers from the room, presumably to fetch Hinata, and Hibarida sighs out another bewildered breath, resting his hands on his hips and staring at the display of lap times with open shock.

“You know, Fuki, you _do_ like a surprise,” Romero muses, leaving Tobio’s side to hobble over to Hibarida’s instead. “ _And_ a challenge. My ankle should be fully healed in a few weeks, too…”

Kageyama frowns, not following this line of wording at all, but Hibarida seems to understand, and he smiles with exasperation at his old driver.

It’s a short wait, and then the door is opening again to reveal Takeda with Hinata following behind, his helmet in one hand, and looking incredibly nervous. The assistant is no sooner in the room than Hibarida is murmuring more instructions to him and he leaves again, looking harried. Hinata steps aside as he passes before making a beeline for Kageyama.

“Was it bad?” He asks quietly when he nears, flicking his gaze over to Hibarida – doing a quick double-take when he finally spots Romero standing next to him – and fiddles with his helmet. “He sounded a little weird on the radio. Is he mad?”

“Hinata…” Kageyama reaches out to encircle his fingers around Hinata’s wrist. “You broke the course record.”

Brown eyes blow impossibly wide. “I did what?” He squeaks out.

“Alright!” Hibarida blows out suddenly, and both of them turn, as Romero’s laughter follow the CEO’s outburst.

The head of Dinoco steps forward, his face once again a picture of calm and professionalism, and addresses Hinata. "Young man, I pride myself on making talents in this industry bloom, and while I wasn’t expecting _this_ for Dinoco’s next season… I must admit I would be a fool to let you go and be snapped up by another team. I was fully expecting to pass on your details to a few contacts today, but I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

Kageyama, whose hand is still clasped around Hinata’s wrist, clamps down tighter, as a furious hope fills his chest.

“I’d like to see how you handle yourself in a few practice races, ideally once Nicolas is back on his feet.” Behind Hibarida, Romero waves cheerfully at Hinata, who waves his helmet back in a daze. “But that _speed_ … I can’t deny it’s impressive. And, well, it’s always fun to try something new.”

Hibarida clears his throat and holds out his hand, “perhaps you would consider coming to race for me next season? I think I want to see what you can _really_ do.”

Hinata’s helmet clatters to the floor as the redhead stands there, frozen in shock, for a handful of seconds, before he bounces back online. He grasps Hibarida’s hand with both of his, shaking it enthusiastically, words and gratitude babbling out of his mouth. He’s smiling so wide, his eyes shining so brightly, that he looks radiant, a happy bouncing sun in Dinoco’s viewing room, and Kageyama can almost see the moment Hibarida becomes smitten with him.

A few more words are exchanged, before Hibarida pats his new recruit on the shoulder, and turns to speak with Takeda, who has returned in the interim with some paperwork. Off to the side, Romero is smiling happily, and he gives Kageyama a little nod of acknowledgement when he catches his eye.

Kageyama twists to face Hinata, opening his mouth to say something, but all the wind is knocked from his chest when the other man barrels into him for a bone crushing hug instead.

“Congratulations,” Kageyama wheezes into Hinata’s hair, as he draws him in to hug him back just as fiercely, and he feels Hinata sob a little laugh into his shoulder, so happy he cannot speak. Kageyama feels his throat close up in turn as pure joy and emotion swells it shut, and squeezes the man in his arms in lieu of kissing him right then and there.

Dinoco isn’t for him, but turns out it’s just perfect for Hinata.

* * *

Kageyama stretches beneath cosy bedsheets, and slides his palm across the mattress, a sleepy pout on his face when it reaches a warm spot rather than a person.

With a huff, he blinks open sleepy eyes to squint at the empty space in the bed where Hinata should be. There’s a brief fog of drowsy confusion as to where his partner has gone, and the smell hits his nose. Even as the morning sunbeams only just start to stream in through the windows, it seems Hinata is already up and making breakfast.

Rubbing his palms over his face to force himself to wake up properly, Kageyama rolls from the bed with a groan. Staggering to his feet, uncoordinated so early in the morning, he picks up his underwear and his shirt from where they were scattered on the floor, pulling them on with a yawn. He steps over the rest of the discarded clothing across Hinata’s bedroom floor, and pads down the short hallway.

The bungalow that Hinata lives in is small, but cosy, like the rest of Karasuno Springs. There’s only one bedroom with a relatively small bathroom, but the living area is spacious with large windows and a small kitchen to amplify the space. The decoration is sparse – because Hinata is rarely at home – but it’s bright and airy and cheerful all the same.

Kageyama stops in the doorway that leads into the living area, leaning against the doorframe as he takes in Hinata, standing in the little kitchenette off to the side.

The other man has opted to pull on a pair of loose shorts and nothing else, and Kageyama bites his lip on a growing smile at the sight of that lower back pinstripe tattoo, heat tingling at his cheeks. One day he’ll have to ask Hinata the story behind that. He drinks in the sight of Hinata’s muscles shifting beneath golden skin for a while longer, a dopey smile on his face, before he sighs softly, and pads over to him.

“Morning,” Hinata sings, perfectly chipper and awake, as Kageyama drapes his still sleepy self over him and plonks his chin on the top of his head. “I don’t have a lot in, is eggs over rice okay?”

Kageyama’s stomach grumbles before he can speak, and Hinata laughs merrily, scooping up the two bowls he had just finished preparing. Neither of them can seemingly be bothered to move much, and Hinata just flings a pair of chopsticks at him, and they eat their breakfast in silence leaning against the countertops.

The early morning sunshine creeps across the bare floorboards as they finish, and, without a word, Hinata takes their bowls and dumps them in the sink, before knitting his fingers with Kageyama’s. He pulls, and Kageyama follows, as they make their way back to the bedroom and slide back under the sheets.

Kageyama flops back against the mattress, eager and content to have a slow, lazy morning for once, and feels Hinata slot in next to him, resting his head on his chest and winding an arm around his waist.

They lie there for an indeterminate amount of time, as the sun filters in through the softly waving curtains and the birds sing through the open window. It’s almost silent otherwise, just the soft rustle of sheets and Hinata’s gentle breathing. Kageyama trails his fingers up and down Hinata’s bare back, and thinks of the miserable, cramped apartment he had back in the city. Where every day and night it was _noisy_ , in a place that never truly slept.

“It’s quiet here,” he murmurs, his thoughts burbling up out of him, and Hinata snorts softly into his chest.

“Of course it is. Didn’t you notice before?” The redhead teases, his voice softer than usual.

“S’nice,” Kageyama yawns, too sleepy to form anything more coherent, and tips his head back against the pillows, eyes sliding shut. “I want to stay here forever.”

The weight against his chest lifts then, and he squints open one eye curiously. He’s met with pudding soft brown eyes, sticky and engrossing, and blinks himself further awake to focus. Outside, there’s a slight hint of voices on the breeze, as the townspeople begin to start their day.

“Why don’t you?” Hinata asks, the soft quality in his voice gone in favour of something hopeful and almost nervous. “Stay?”

“Well…” Kageyama starts, his tongue suddenly thick even as the sleepy fog starts to lift from his brain. He runs his hand up and down Hinata’s back. “I was looking at that house next to here that’s empty…” he admits quietly, and frowns at Hinata’s sudden offended look. “What?”

“What’s wrong with my house?” Hinata pouts.

“Your… house?”

“Just stay here, stupid,” Hinata says, and then drops his gaze as he plucks at the bedsheets. “I mean, if you want to?”

“Oh,” Kageyama breathes, now fully and truly awake.

He’d decided he wanted to leave the city for the town in the desert almost as soon as he’d decided to stay with Power Curry. He’d noticed there was more than one empty house during his week here, and he’s optimistically hopeful the townspeople’s hospitality extends to a full-time stay rather than just a handful of days. Karasuno Springs isn’t _that_ far from the city he lived in now, it wouldn’t change his life much in the professional sense.

But it would make all the difference otherwise. A life filled with people who cared, who he cared _about_ , whose buildings light up like the rainbow every night. Cafes full of laughter and shops full of passion, a racetrack on the doorstep and surrounds so beautiful he could hardly breathe sometimes.

Funny, how something he thought to be so ugly at first glance turned out to be all he could ever want.

“I can stay with you?” He asks hopefully, because he’d been worried it would be too fast, too much, to ask that himself.

Hinata shifts until he’s above him directly, knees planted on either side of his hips and forearms bracketing his head. The sunshine streaming in catches his hair and sets it aglow, and the air in Kageyama’s lungs leaves in a whoosh as he stares up at the rapturously gorgeous man whose bed he lies in.

“If you want,” Hinata confirms in a whisper, and that blindingly bright smile returns briefly, before he’s swooping down and kissing Kageyama, soft and sweet.

The redhead lets his body drop down slowly, until it presses down the length of Kageyama’s, pressing gentle little pecks to his lips, his jaw, his neck.

Kageyama shudders out a blissful sigh, happiness like he’s never known making every part of his body sing, alive and airy and wonderful. He tugs at the man draped over him until he’s close enough that he can kiss him properly again.

“You know,” Hinata murmurs against him when they part for air, “I’m really glad you got lost that day.”

His voice sounds a little rough, a little choked there at the edges, and Kageyama tucks his face in the junction between Hinata’s neck and shoulder as emotion builds up behind his eyes as well. “So am I,” he whispers against freckled, tanned skin, and presses a wet kiss to the pulse point by his lips, as small, callous rough hands hold him close.

* * *

“Noya, I’ve been meaning to ask… where did you get this?”

Tanaka turns the chequered flag he’s holding in his hands and glances over at the tyre salesman, who beams happily.

“Italy!”

“Italy?” Sugawara pipes up from behind. “You went all the way to Italy and came back with a chequered flag that you can buy anywhere?”

Nishinoya puffs up in his indignation, and the solid hand of Asahi claps down on his shoulder to hold him back a little as he launches into a little rant. Daichi rolls his eyes in the background, sighing his exasperation up at the heavens.

Kageyama watches the display with a mixture of amusement and mild confusion, and settles back to lean against the warm metal of his car.

The overhead afternoon sunshine beams down, as hot and oppressive as ever, even towards the end of the year. It bathes the dust and dirt around them, the desert as arid as always, but more welcoming now. A familiar groove in the earth, rather than a foe to be conquered. Kageyama feels the heat from his Corvette ooze through his shirt and tilts his head back, eyeing the sky above – an endless swath of blue.

The racing season for the year had officially ended. The interviews were done, the teams were on break. Contracts were being signed, here and there, and maybe the odd practice was run or a car re-tuned, but mostly, it was time to rest. For Kageyama, it’s a time to regroup. To scrub and start again, anew, with a new fire, a new drive, to start the next year with the want to win because racing is _fun_ again.

Around him, the chatter of the townspeople of Karasuno Springs echoes around the track at Willy’s Butte. A scattering of classic cars congregates along the bank above, and someone has dragged along a long, fold-up table and a sparse collection of drinks pitchers and snacks. There are plastic cups in hands and blankets everywhere, as everyone either stands or sits around the soft, sandy slopes that lead down to the track.

Kageyama shuffles against his car, idling at the start line, waiting patiently.

And then, echoing across the desert and silencing the crowd, is that oh-so familiar rumble of a devastating, beautiful engine.

A smirk twitches at the corner of Kageyama’s mouth, before it softens into something awestruck as the car before him tips over the lip of the bank and starts to slip down to the track.

“Tanaka… that is your best work yet,” Kageyama says sincerely, as Hinata’s Porsche slides down towards them.

The artist sighs happily, gripping the chequered flag. “Isn’t it? Finally got rid of that yellow…”

With a professional racing team comes a professional livery – and perhaps it was because they had chosen a complete unknown for their driver for the upcoming Piston Cup season, but Dinoco had, for the first time in many years, forgone their usual soft sky blue.

Hinata’s Porsche is a bright yellow no more, but neither is it baby blue. It’s a bright, shining gold - deep and luscious, with a sparkle in the paint that made it glitter in the sunshine. Tanaka had taken the Dinoco dinosaur logo, tutted at the timeless design, and remade it. Gone was the original, and now there was a bright, cobalt blue logo – a dinosaur whose body took up the rear wheel arches and the back panels, and had a long neck stretching across the Porsche’s doors. Its nose ends where the number begins – number twenty-one – in the same metallic blue paint, sharp and jagged and striking, with a matching number across the hood.

Kageyama whistles appreciatively as Hinata’s car pulls up in parallel next to his, and, as the man inside tumbles out, a little cheer goes up amongst the crowd.

Just for the occasion, Hinata is also wearing his brand new race suit – blue, of course, to meet with Dinoco’s theming, and the hue of it meshes wonderfully with the bold colour of his hair. Hinata’s smile is bright enough to rival the sun itself above, his happiness beaming through too strongly even when he aims for a flirtatious twist, as he spreads his arms wide and all but struts towards Kageyama.

 _Look at me_ , he says, and Kageyama is definitely _looking,_ his mouth going dry as his heart picks up a happy pace.

He unfolds his arms and pushes off from his car, taking a handful of steps forward to meet this man in the middle.

This racer, a perfect partner and rival all in one, who Kageyama found by chance in the middle of nowhere. Someone who made him fall in love with racing again. Someone who made him fall _in_ love.

He slots a hand behind Hinata’s head, tangling his fingers through the fiery curls, and pulls him close to kiss him deep. Feels both of their mouths twitch at the whistles from the crowd, a heady thrill of satisfaction flooding him.

“What do you think?” Hinata murmurs against him, their lips brushing they’re still so close, that sparkle in his eyes dancing in the sunshine.

“Perfect,” Kageyama decides, letting his eyes roam over the suit, and its logos, and then back over to the freshly painted Porsche. In a few short months he’s going to see that car on the grid, in his mirrors… a bolt of excitement shoots through him, and he almost laughs right then and there.

How did he get so _lucky?_

“Hmmm… get used to staring at my car, Kageyama, you’re going to be doing that a lot when you’re behind me on the track,” Hinata smirks, his voice back at its usual tilting lilt, and Kageyama kisses him hard and quick to wipe it away.

“Not today,” he declares, stepping away suddenly and snickering at the dazed expression on Hinata’s face. “I know all your tricks, and now this race is fair, I’m going to win.”

He shoots Hinata a wild, borderline feral, smile and throws open the door to his Corvette, sliding inside. There’s a beat and a slam, and then Hinata is settling into his Porsche opposite, and the air is filled with the sound of roaring engines as they flare into life, sparks shooting between challenging gazes.

It’s a little late, a few weeks later than originally planned, but here and now, on the sand and the dirt of Willy’s Butte, it’s finally time for that rematch of that first race that never really got started.

“You actually going to leave the start line this time?” Kageyama shouts over the snarls of their engines, as Tanaka takes his place, lifting the flag ready to wave and the rest of the townspeople take their spots on the banks to watch.

Hinata tilts his head back against his headrest and laughs, the sound of it drowned out by warring V8s, and shoots Kageyama a razor sharp smile. “You haven’t seen me take off on dirt, Kageyama, not in a race. I’ll be half way around the track before you even notice.”

Kageyama’s nerves set on fire and he grips his steering wheel tightly, grinning wildly, and holds his body taught, ready to spring. His beloved Stringray holds steady beneath him, waiting to launch, and he licks his lips in sweet anticipation.

Ahead, Tanaka nods to his side and then there’s a chorus of voices as the people of Karasuno Springs, the people who took him in, allowed him to make their home _his_ home, start to count them down.

Time seems to slow for the five seconds that pass, as Kageyama’s eyes slide from the track ahead to the people gathered off to the side. Everyone is there, even Tsukishima, who seems to be almost smiling, though it must be a trick of the light. He takes them all in, this odd bundle of people he was so dismissive of and grew to love, and feels his chest constrict tightly with gratitude.

The last number is hollered out in joyful unison, and, with a blink, Kageyama refocuses, and his Corvette pounces.

True to his promise, Hinata is a demon off the start line, a lightning bolt in beautiful blues and golds that streak just a few feet ahead. But Kageyama is no stranger to speed, and his Stringray sings alongside the Cayman as it races to catch up. They sail along the bank that rises up above turns one and two, fighting for first, and hurtle as one down the second straight, side by side.

Turn three looms and simultaneously, both of them turn their steering wheels in the opposite direction to the turn.

Dust clouds billow as navy blue and gold sail across the dirt and Kageyama shakes his head in fondness and annoyance as Hinata roars out the drift first, gliding ahead and streaking into turn four. The bend and the angle gives Kageyama a briefest glimpse of the man inside the car, and he feels his fierce grin become soft and gentle.

 _I love you_ , he thinks, out of nowhere and because of everything, as the racer who was once a handyman inches ahead to retain the lead at the end of the first lap.

It’s too soon to say out loud, perhaps, but Kageyama cannot deny that he does. He fell in love with Hinata like he did racing – hard and fast and for the rest of his life.

It’s exhilarating and challenging and pulse pumping perfect. It’s getting lost and being found. It’s a dirt track and an ancient road paving machine and a street lined with neon. It’s the desert and the mountains, the rivers and the forests. It’s music, it’s dancing. It’s _racing._

The second lap begins, of the first race of all the races that will truly matter from now on. The Piston Cup beckons again, as exciting as it was when he was a child and only dreaming of it, now there’s someone to share it all with. And beyond the racing and the track, is a little bungalow on the outskirts of a town just starting to come alive again. _Home_.

Kageyama takes the lead, and Hinata follows, until they’re neck and neck going down the second straight again. He glances out of his window, and finds Hinata looking right back, looking as incandescently happy and lovesick as he feels.

He sends a little parting thought of thanks, to his past self and his impatience, and every stupidly right decision that led to him getting on the highway that night. The highway that led him to here, to home and to Hinata, as the Porsche and the Corvette dance around each other once more, drifting across the sand.

_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wheeeeeeew. and we're done. if someone said to me 'emily, you will write a 90k+ fic about the story of Pixar's cars but retold with haikyuu characters' a year ago I would've thought they had lost all of their marbles. and yet here I am, having lost all my marbles.
> 
> the months spent on this have been wild. this started out as a silly idea in my head, until it grew and grew and I mentioned it on twitter, and then some other people, against all expectations, said "not a completely stupid idea" and then I gave the idea some serious thought. planning this fic took weeks. writing it took months. and at times it was frustrating and many hours were spent staring at a word document at stupid hours in the evening. but it was also the most fun I've had creatively, and i'm so happy I finished it. 
> 
> to everyone who even gave this fic a chance, with its out there concept, thank-you!! to everyone who left a kudo, comment, talked to me on twitter about it, thank-you so, so much. some days the feedback I got from this fic made so happy my mood was untouchable for the whole day. if you've never seen cars and read this anyway, I am floored (also go see it!! it's a blast!!), and to everyone who thought these two wildly different universes meshed - thank-you :') 
> 
> and finally, extra special and endless thank-yous to sarah and nareh, who helped during planning, when I got stuck, and were the most wonderful support throughout writing this - I am forever grateful <3 <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone wondering about the specific models:
> 
> Kageyama drives a 2019 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray in Admiral Blue!
> 
> Hinata drives a Porsche Cayman GT4 RS in... well they didn't list the exact colour name but it's Obnoxious Yellow 
> 
> if you would like to scream at me about haikyuu, i am over on twitter @Emlee_J


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